Calliope and Thalia and Their Inspiration
by Dayang Lucilla
Summary: Callie and Lia, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. A lady and a tomboy. Two opposite souls. Two sisters. Separated at birth by circumstances they are determined to discover... and undo. After being reunited, they plot to reunite their parents, too! D/Hr
1. Callie

**Callie**

**

* * *

**

He heard the sound of her slippered feet padding on the wooden floors before she reached the stone portico and spoke.

"Father?"

"Good morning, love."

And it wasn't enough that she was about to come to the table anyway, he turned in his seat so he could watch her approach. Though it was still too early, only going seven, and he himself was still in his dressing robe, she was already dressed of course. Smartly, too, he proudly mused, in a yellow dress and russet stockings. Her hair was twisted into its usual messy bun, two ivory sticks holding it in place. Her pink bunny slippers rather ruined the sophisticated air she had, but that was alright, she was only eleven. And he rather liked seeing her bunny slippers on her feet. It assured him she was still a child. His baby girl.

That sounded sappy and totally out of character to be in his thoughts, but he'd only scoff at any one who'd say it _was_ sappy and out of character. Even a hag or an uncouth troll would undoubtedly be sappy over his Calliope.

"Have you swallowed your sandwich and coffee?" she asked after daintily covering a yawn with three fingers.

"I wouldn't be talking if I haven't." He always spoke to her tersely, to tone down his affection a bit. He couldn't deny her anything. "Callie, I said, good morning." Oh, how insistent he was on these 'manners thingies'.

"Oh, yes, good morning, Dad! You don't have anything in your mouth at all? No beans or stringmints?"

"No. Why?" She hadn't had her first suitors yet, had she? Even with her nose buried in books most of the time and though she was nearly always sequestered away from the rest of the world in the vineyard, boys still hounded her. He really had it in for Frenchmen.

"I got my Hogwarts letter."

"You _what?"_

Explosive coughs sounded in the terrace of the charming little chateau. The man coughing received pats from his exasperated daughter.

"How did this — you're not —" he sputtered.

"Why not?"

"Well, because we live here! This is Chablis! This is France! You're going to Beauxbatons!"

"But you and Grandmother and Grandfather talked about Hogwarts and Slytherin since I was born. And you've only talked about Beauxbatons in the last two weeks."

"So?"

"That isn't an answer in intelligent conversation, Father."

"You're doing it again, young lady."

And yes, she always did that. It was endearing and frightening at the same time. Well, not really frightening, per se. All the same, it never failed to make his heart skip beats when she became domineering and assertive like that. Just like her mother.

"I was only saying," with a graceful flick of a gold-bangled wrist, "not only have I been brought up thoroughly English, I've also been prepped thoroughly for Hogwarts, not Beauxbatons. Perhaps they knew that? Or is it because I went to London with Aunt Pansy the week they were probably addressing the letters?"

"And I thought your return from that book-signing unscathed was enough to cover any damages you might have done by sneaking."

"I didn't sneak. It's not my fault if Aunt Pansy was too much in a hurry to tell you. I told her to do it while I packed."

This conversation was fast going downhill on her favour. As always. He never won with her. But he wouldn't lose over this one, no. He couldn't afford to. He had to think fast. "Well... that was last week. It's our rule not to dredge up past things."

Merlin's pants, his daughter beamed. That always preceded his defeat. He looked away resolutely, which only made her skip over to his other side, her skirt flouncing. "So when do we get my books?"

He could feel a muscle ticking in his neck from his effort not to return her smile, or look at her or allow her to infect him with her delight. He grabbed the French Wizarding paper on the table (Le Magique Miroir), something he'd never done before when breakfasting with his daughter. "You haven't gotten your Beauxbatons supplies list yet."

"I'm not waiting for it. I'm going to Hogwarts."

"No, you're not."

"But you've practically raised me on Hogwarts stories!"

"Hey, that's unfair. It's our rule not to dredge up past things, remember?"

He could feel her gaze practically burning through the paper with which he'd covered his face. And then he heard her settle rather loudly into the cane chair next to him in the round table. Her teaspoon rattled against china as she stirred her sweet cream tea. Silver tinkled against glass as she uncovered the dishes, one after the other.

He lowered the paper just as she was about to slam another dish cover on the tabletop.

"You know Grandmother will never forgive you if you break this porch set, Callie."

Her response was to open her own book. _The Lord of the Flies._ Where did it come from? He could swear his daughter seemed to pluck books from thin air.

They sat in silence. Father fidgeting, daughter reading, one or the other occasionally reaching for a forkful of omelette, a bite of scone or a sip of coffee or tea.

At last, the father succumbed. He crumpled the paper to his lap. "Callie —"

"I know."

"What? You know what?" And then he quickly rearranged his face, wondering if , and fearing that, his authority and reliability might diminish if he looked that gormless and bewildered before his daughter too many times in a half hour.

"That Beauxbatons doesn't have Quidditch."

"What are you talking about, Callie?" He probably looked gormless and bewildered again, he couldn't help it. He couldn't keep up half the time with her, truth to tell. "Of course, they do. And you don't care about Quidditch anyway, do you?" He sounded almost hopeful, he wanted to slap himself.

"What are you talking about, Dad? Of course I do. You even made sure your favourite team is my favourite, too. The Pride of Portree, see?"

"Yeah, the Isle Highlanders — wait a second — well, they have Quidditch in Beauxbatons, too, love, don't worry."

"They don't have Houses, so they don't have teams —"

"Yes, they do have teams —"

"It's not the same. The spirit won't be the same, Father. Where's loyalty in that? You can switch teams any time! Isn't that ridiculous?"

She was parroting him. Incredible, really. And how stupid of him.

"I mean, if I make it to the Slytherin team, I might, you know, reclaim glory from the Gryffindors —"

"Callie, don't go there." But he was grinning widely, and she was grinning back, damn her. She knew his buttons. He sipped coffee and bit his cheeks to hold in his grin. "Um, I don't want you concentrating on the house rivalries. What's good about the Houses is your house becomes like your second family." He snorted in his mind, remembering his own 'second family'. But from what he'd heard, Hogwarts was different now. "Yeah, they teach you about loyalty, they boost you to do your House proud, that's all. But you don't necessarily have to 'reclaim glory from Gryffindors'. If you're meant to, then you would, but I don't want you obsessing over it the way you obsess over the piano—"

"I promise, Daddy."

In spite of himself, he smiled at her. It felt silly to him, but he didn't care. He always didn't care when she called him that, and with that sweet lilt in her voice he hoped she wouldn't outgrow.

When she turned back happily to her omelette, he froze.

Had he just implied she was indeed going to Hogwarts?

"Do you want a refill, Daddy?"

Callie poured another round on his demitasse, grinning from ear to ear.

He supposed he had. Merlin.

Draco Malfoy cursed inwardly.

"Daddy?"

He looked at his child, and her image flickered in his mind, her grey eyes became brown, her hair became bushier and she was a woman, her expression reproachful, even vindictive. But he blinked and Callie was Callie again, not her mother.

"Daddy, it's okay. It's our rule not to dredge up past things, remember? Other people should learn it, too. And I think, if they're decent, they already know it."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Calliope was born in England, so the magic quill recorded her birth in the Hogwarts register. *wink* I like to think that magical schools keep track of their children, wherever they go to live after being born.

Hello, ef-ef dot net! Those of you with really rabid fan fiction-teeth will recognize this story from another site. I've decided to publish here as well, for the notoriously active and demanding feedback to push me to get on and finish this. :)) That is, if I do get feedback. Thank you for reading. Tell me what you think, please.


	2. Lia

**Lia

* * *

**

"Thalia, Thalia, Thalia."

_"Mum!"_

Along with the sound of curtain rings rasping open, sunlight flooded through the bay windows, revealing a lovely room furnished and papered in cornflower blue and hazel. It was rather cluttered, with the desks strewn with everything from books to paint brushes to little balls of clay in every colour imaginable, but cosy. The plump cushions on the window seats matched the sleigh couch beside the brimming walnut bookshelf and the bed. On this bed was a large lump beneath the covers. Beside this lump sat a woman looking around at the mess with rueful and bemused affection.

"Come on, we've talked about this. And don't 'Mo-o-o-om' me. What have I told you about whining? It isn't becoming."

"Don't 'Thalia' me. It isn't becoming."

"Oh, tush. You'll appreciate it when you're older."

"So you admit you used to hate your name, too?"

"That's only because people never know how to pronounce it correctly."

"Ditto."

_"That's_ because you keep introducing yourself as Lia. Serves you right for disdaining the name your mother gave you."

As she said this, the woman tugged on the comforter, but it was held fast.

"Honey, we had a pact to get you out of bed by seven. It had gone now. It's nearly eight! I've been lenient already."

There were only faint whimpers behind the quilt.

The woman laughed. "This is why we have to do this, Thalia! Or else you'll suffer at Hogwarts. Get up!"

"We can start it next month, Mum."

"No. We'll start now, today. I made s'mores."

"As if you'll let me eat that for breakfast."

"Try me."

The quilt went flying. The woman dived down before she could be warded off, to plant a kiss on the girl's cheek. She held on and nuzzled her daughter's head. "I can't believe you're off to Hogwarts this September. It seems only yesterday when your Uncle Ron used to —"

"Balance both my wee feet on his palm and throw me around with Uncle Harry like a Quaffle, I know. Mum, you're strangling me."

The woman laughed and with another kiss on her daughter's flaxen locks, let go. "You've been using my shampoo again."

"I like it."

"I thought you don't like apricots."

"I don't like ieating/i them. Why are iyou/i snuggling under my blankets?"

"Because I'll nap here while you make this room resemble something belonging to a girl I raised."

"Oh, Mum, can't you do it? Just this morning, come on. I love seeing you do it. You're so good. I bet the teachers still remember your name."

"Aren't you such a sly vixen!" Laughing, the woman kicked her daughter gently off the bed. The girl landed with a thump on her rug, pouting. "You won't get away with flattery and that pout this time, Thalia. Tidy up! Goodness, we'll have to practice on your organization, too. You'll have roommates. You can't leave your things and junk just anywhere."

Huffing mockingly, Thalia got up and began stuffing things pell-mell into drawers. Her mother watched her, not at all napping as she'd said. Instead, memories were rolling like film in her mind, very vivid ones, and with Lia's back turned, and with her blonde mane resting on her back just like that, the memories became images, of a man with that same hair.

"...might just be in Slytherin. Mum?"

"What? I'm sorry, honey. I was about to nap there."

"You're never capable of napping in broad daylight, Mum. I was saying, since you all say what a sly vixen I am, I might just become a Slytherin."

The woman blinked at her child. Of course, Thalia _was_ a Slytherin, a chip off the old block. But a chip polished and lovingly shaped to be loved and lovable, never to hurt anyone.

"Well, if you go there, you know what to do," she said fondly, focusing on her daughter's eyes and seeing herself there in those cinnamon depths. She was confident in Thalia.

"Hold sway and hold regular s'more parties?"

They hadn't been together half an hour for the day and the woman could no longer count how many times she'd laughed. Thalia always made her laugh. Or was it amazement, that she had such a feminine and angelic version of ithat man/i, which never failed to make her rather giddy?

When she had been younger, she'd always envisioned herself as a strict mother, the kind who shushed jokes and threatened punishments at the drop of a hat. But Thalia was more like her friend than her daughter, a friend she listened to and who listened to her, a friend she went to ice cream splurges with and raced to the tub with on Saturday nights.

She bit her lip. All that was about to end. Thalia would be at Hogwarts in two months' time.

"Mum, did you eat something? You're making faces. And did you hear what I said about the s'more parties? I mean it, you know. Does Hogwarts have a steady supply of grahams?"

"I heard you. Goodness, your sweet tooth is appalling. Nevertheless, I don't complain. Your teeth are nicer than mine already."

Thalia smirked. Gods, she stood there leaning on one hip with her feet apart, her head tilted to one side, and she smirked. Hermione gasped at the resemblance. She'd always known Thalia took after her father, but the similarities always struck her. Jabs to the heart almost painful in their intensity.

Perhaps it was the Hogwarts business triggering these things. That, and a certain grey-eyed girl with brown tresses down her back, whom Thalia had been next to in the queue last week at Flourish and Blotts. Joanna Bowling, that phenomenal author of Wizarding children's literature, had been signing her new book. And there Thalia was, awaiting her turn to meet and greet her one favourite author. Hermione had been in the second floor balcony looking down. Her eyes were trained on her daughter. But photographers upset the line and several people stumbled. Thalia helped the girl next to her and they both pressed themselves against the wall, side by side, while the photographers did their thing.

Hermione had stared, because abreast, the two girls only differed from each other in the colour of their hair and eyes. And clothing. The other girl was in a chic knee-length red skirt, silk cream blouse and matching stockings. Her ankle boots were red suede, whereas Thalia was in a pair of tan jeans, a simple blue tank and sneakers splashed with paint.

They looked quite a pair.

But no, it couldn't be, because Thalia's pair was across the channel. That was the agreement. And though just the memory of the agreement sliced through her like a knife each time it crossed her mind, it was better this way.

She nodded resolutely to herself and held out an arm to lead Thalia out of the room and downstairs.

"Now, make no mistake, this s'more breakfast is only for today, your first day of waking up early."

"That's okay, I can have a s'more lunch or tea or dinner, right?"

"Thalia!" Hermione laughed. "You never give up, do you? Do you never tire of them? Honestly!"

"I never tire when it comes to getting what I want. And I'm persuasive."

Hermione shivered. She'd heard of those exact same words years and years ago.

"Mum! It's the middle of July! How could you be cold?"

"Sorry. You just scare me sometimes."

"Me? You're the one who sleeps in a library!"

They both laughed again as they sat down in their breakfast booth by the kitchen's picture window. The sun was already bright in their 'backyard', which consisted of a patch of a tidily kept lawn, and beyond it, a wilderness of heather and honeysuckle on ash trees. This house used to belong to Hermione's maternal grandparents and she and Thalia liked the rusticity around it. And they were only a town and a village away from the Burrow.

"No, I mean it. Promise me you won't become a Dark witch, okay?" Hermione said in mock fervent tones.

"Sorry, Mum, I don't promise anything for less than a promise of a lifetime of s'more meals."

"Ugh. By the time you graduate from Hogwarts, you'll be wearing false teeth."

"I do brush, you know. Unlike Uncle Ron." Thalia punctuated this statement with chocolate syrup dribbling down her chin.

For a moment, Hermione stared, remembering a long-ago incident of chocolate on just such a chin, too. And then she shook herself and wiped her daughter.

"You put on airs and swaggers but you're still such a baby, you know that, my love?"

"If you insist. I tolerate it 'cos we're alone and 'cos you're so sweet giving me a s'more breakfast."

_"Oh, Thalia."

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_

**Author's Note:** Thalia: thә-LĪ-ya (that's a schwa sound — as how you pronounce the verb 'does'— after a soft TH, as in thrill, and a long I, as in kite) Calliope is pronounced the same, with a long I and with the stress in I. Ka-LĪ-yopee. Nice, aren't they? Calliope and Thalia are two of the Muses, with Calliope as Chief Muse, the Muse of Epic Poetry, while Thalia presides over Comic and Lyric Poetry. The nine daughters of Zeus with the goddess of memory, Mnemosyne, the Muses inspire artists. *wink*


	3. Mum

**Mum

* * *

**

Callie reached over and touched the tip of her middle finger to her lamp. The rosy light revealed her clock's hands pointing in an obtuse angle at the numbers one and seven. She moaned and gingerly shifted to get up from the bed. Her lower belly was taut — she needed to pee, badly.

She _always_ had to pee badly. She was always too lazy and too reluctant to even move an arm when she was deep in a book so she always let the urge pass until it was no longer bearable. And ever since she'd left her nursery and her grandmother had fitted this new room for her, with an en suite, Callie had neglected going to the loo more and more. Ugh. It was painful.

She shuffled to her en suite doubled over.

Beside the bowl, a small bookrack stood, filled with Austen, Eliot and Brontë novels, which her grandmother insisted Callie couldn't reach majority without, but just then, Callie's attention and sleepiness wasn't diverted.

She sank down on the toilet seat cushion and reflected on her dream. If only she had peed earlier, she would have seen her mother! She had been so near, Callie had called her, and she had been about to turn, her hair the same as Callie's, only thicker... her cheeks were the same, her nose was the same... and then Callie's impatient bladder had to intervene.

"Damn."

Callie clapped a hand to her mouth when she heard herself. And then she giggled. Her grandfather would have been proud. He'd always insisted she should know how to be candid — as long as the swear word she chose was elegant and never demeaning. She supposed 'damn' would be allowed, since it was elegant and invoking perdition was not demeaning, was it?

She wondered what her mother would think, though.

She'd much rather it wasn't so, but as she grew older, she was finding herself wondering what her mother would think oftener and oftener.

Callie flushed the toiled and then looked toward her bath shelves. Did her Mum like the smell of apricots, too? Or maybe apples?

Would she like Callie's burgundy tiles and aquamarine carpets and accents?

And what was her opinion of Catherine Earnshaw when she chose to marry Edgar Linton instead of Heathcliff?

Wincing because her lower belly still felt tender, she went back to bed and stared up at her lace canopy, willing herself to go back to sleep and recommence her dream, but her mind was too busy, too excited with another thought.

Her mother was in England.

It was her most treasured Mum-fact.

Next to 'hair exactly the same shade of mink brown like mine' and 'the very same mania for books, if not more rabid'.

Callie sighed. She was going to England at last. To Hogwarts. She wondered if there was this chance, however little, that she might meet her mother there.

Joanna Bowling's book-signing was the first time she had gone to England in her memory. She hoped they would go back, and get her supplies there at Diagon Alley.

Her father had always been forthright that he and her mother had not parted in the best of circumstances. But why was she, Callie, included in the separation? Didn't her mother want her?

As always when this thought intruded upon her mind, she banished it under threat of an Avada Kedavra.

There must be another reason why her Mum had not seen her or visited her. Her Mum loved her, certainly. Callie clung to this belief. And her father never disagreed with it.

* * *

The only other time she'd been late in the morning was when her father had given her all four _The Lord of the Rings_ books for her seventh birthday. When he'd found her still reading at four in the morning, immersed in ithe Silmarillon/i, he had summoned the rest of the books and refused to give another to her until she promised to go to sleep at nine again, no matter where Bilbo was.

Callie giggled a little at the recollection as she clasped her favourite pleated skirt.

Her Aunt Pansy had shown her photographs of herself wearing the Hogwarts uniform, and the black pleated skirt Callie was wearing now was very close to the Hogwarts skirt. For good measure, Callie opened her jumper cabinet and stood back on her heels tapping her chin as she looked at them. All of them were thick cashmeres and wools.

As the summer was getting warmer by the second, she'd feel and look ridiculous wearing one, she thought resignedly, pulling on a white pearl-buttoned shirt instead.

That was when she spotted it: a russet vest still with its price tag, which she delightedly yanked off.

She then ran halfway to her door, paused and then went back inside her wardrobe, her pink slippers flying off in her wake.

* * *

"...will be devastated, I tell you."

"I'll deal with it, Mother, thank you."

"Don't 'mother' me in that tone, Draco Malfoy."

"Father, will you please stop smirking at... at the magnolias and... the coffee urn?"

"If it bothers you, avert your eyes. I shall smirk as I please."

Callie was bemused at the conversation she heard as she approached the portico off the dining room. Usually, by this time she was already in her favourite nook under a pear tree in the garden while her father stayed with her grandparents' late breakfast.

"Darling, there you are. You're a little tardy today aren't you?"

Callie grinned. Trust Grandmother to call two hours 'a _little_ tardy'. "Good morning, parent and grandparents."

His father scowled at the greeting. He opened her mouth to scold, Callie was sure, but then closed it again. "What are you wearing?" he asked instead, rather brusquely, staring at her feet.

They all looked down at the black round-toe shoes with its burgundy velvet toecap.

"They're called slip-ons, Draco. And rather nice, aren't they, my love?" Grandmother winked at Callie. "Naturally, as I bought them."

For some reason, her father looked even sulkier. She kissed his cheek and sat down beside him. She had just risen again to kiss her grandparents, too, when she saw all the parcels and packages beside her grandmother's chair.

"What are all those, Grandmother? You can't have gone shopping this early!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father flapping open _Le Magique Mirror_ with speed.

"They're your Hogwarts things, sweet pea," her grandfather replied drily. "Your father had them delivered by owl order."

Callie sank back down in her chair with a leaden weight in her still empty stomach. She looked down at her hands and blinked. She couldn't believe it: she felt like crying! "Oh. I thought we were getting them ourselves in London."

Her father must have heard the hitch in her voice because _Le Magique Mirror_ crunched as he crumpled it again to his lap.

"I'm sorry, Callie, I'm just not ready to let you go yet. You'll leave me soon enough anyway, aren't you?"

"You were supposed to come with me to Diagon Alley, Father! Did you think I will only take Grandmother or Aunt Pansy?"

He winced.

"Darling, it's not so bad. It's hot as Hades over there right now."

Callie only barely heard her grandmother. She stirred her tea and concentrated on keeping down sobs.

"Are you very hungry, Calliope?" asked her grandfather suddenly.

"Not really," she answered as low as possible — any louder and they would hear how a lump was obscuring her throat.

Her grandfather got up. Callie was struck with how tall he was, and how he would always be one of her pillars. "Well, I fancy a walk. Care to join me?"

"Don't be silly, Lucius, let her eat first."

"She's not hungry, Narcissa. Take your tea with you, my pet, and a croissant."

Callie did as she was told, placing a sweet roll over her teacup and taking her grandfather's hand. They descended the three steps of the portico and walked toward her pear tree.

"Now then, don't mind your father. If it's any comfort — you know he's still utterly besotted with your mother, don't you?"

"He is?"

"He is, the fool." Her grandfather rolled his eyes. They paused under her pear tree. He motioned for her to take a bite of her food and Callie obeyed, chewing and then sipping her tea.

"But how is that a comfort to me, Grandfather?"

"This is making him squirm. Your dismay at missing going to England for your things is nothing compared to his own discomposure. Let that console you."

Callie grinned. Her grandfather's dry humour always tickled her.

"Why are you all decked in red anyway?" he asked casually as they walked again. They left the shade of the pear tree and took the path to the orchard.

Callie shrugged. "I've always liked it. It complements my hair and eyes, don't you think? Don't you like it?"

It was his turn to shrug. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but he apparently changed his mind about it because he just smiled instead.

They left her teacup in the low brick fence separating the chateau's garden from the orchard. Her grandfather lifted her up easily to the fence's top and she jumped down on the other side. He hoisted himself up and over the fence a moment later, landing beside her with a grunt. He grimaced. "I think we'll have to go through the gate later. Stop grinning, you impertinent girl. It's not as if you'll stay young yourself."

Callie laughed outright at that and he glared at her for a second before grabbing her, propping her back on top of the wall and tickling her waist, threatening to tip her over on the other side as she shrieked and fought him off.

When she was sure she was starting to turn blue, he pulled her back down on the ground. He put a hand on her shoulder and led her off as if nothing happened. She leaned on him as they walked, still weak from giggling.

They had neighbouring plantations, so theirs couldn't entirely be maintained by elves. They hired people, Muggles, who tipped their hats to them as they passed. The pears were flowering, and they met a handful of pruners on the way. Her grandfather would nod back, but the Champs du Rose workers considered him aloof. Callie liked him as he was, though. This outward hauteur fitted him. And that was what it was, really, outward only. He was never rude and had always been warm to her.

"I reckon all blame rests on me, you know, my pet."

Callie was startled at this continuation of their light-hearted conversation. "What do you mean, Grandfather?"

"Well, you know how we once held wrong beliefs, don't you, about Muggles and Muggleborns?"

Callie nodded. She wondered where this was going.

"It all sprang from there, your mother and father's estrangement." He didn't elaborate. Callie nodded nonetheless. She knew her mother was a Muggleborn.

"Your father, grandmother and I were not alone in being fools. There were others. It was a vulgar meddlesome such person who drove your mother and father apart."

They reached a secluded part of the orchard where no workers were puttering around. The hill was sloping a little to the path to the vineyard beyond. Her grandfather led her to lean against a tree.

"Understand that I am not about to tell your parents' sorry tale to you, my dear. It's not my place. I'm just... well, I feel like I need some forgiveness from you. I myself spouted insults to your mother once. I thought her beneath us. I even quite hated her, all those years she always bested your father at school."

Callie let it all sink in and then smiled. "It's our rule not to dredge up past things, Grandfather."

He only looked even more sombre. He bent at the waist and grasped her shoulders with both hands. "Calliope, about that, I'm afraid you might face ugliness at Hogwarts because of... You know our story, don't you? We have been acquitted, your father and I, and we have paid for the things I have blindly allowed the Dark Lord to coerce us to do, but our name's still mud in British Wizarding society. Are you sure you are intent on going to Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons?"

Callie reached up to cover his hands with hers. "I've thought about it, Grandfather. I'm actually surprised Father hasn't talked to me about it yet. I have my answer ready when he does. And that is: this is my chance to prove to them that the Malfoys have changed. And if there are people there who will turn up their noses at me before knowing me, they're not worth bothering with."

Her grandfather straightened up with a glazed look in his face and smiled. "You are so like your mother."

"I am?"

He nodded and snorted. "Don't pretend surprised, I'm sure your father's told you countless times already. Self-possessed and tenacious to a fault."

"Tell me more," Callie said eagerly.

"You know enough to be going on with." Lucius waved a hand dismissively. "I admired her determination even while I avoided talking to her. My pride was in a pitiful state then, you understand. And I'm so glad you seemed to have inherited none of that pride —"

"I _do_ have some pride!"

He chuckled. "Well, you do. Of course you do."

"And my mother made Grandmother read Muggle literature, didn't she?"

"Yes. It was during those days when they kept delaying my trial, I think. They were determined to stretch my time in Azkaban because having your mother on our side assured everyone I would not be incarcerated. Well, your grandmother never fails to keep her stiff upper lip, but your mother would not have that. It was either your grandmother had to talk and grumble and even cry as she should, or occupy herself. Since the library at the Manor had been emptied, your mother provided the books — and subtly thumbed her nose at our patrician pureblood nonsense as well."

Callie noted that her grandfather spoke almost fondly, and that was saying something. "You don't hate her anymore, do you?"

"That's ridiculous —"

"But you called Father a fool earlier for still pining for her —"

"Exactly. For pining instead of going after her, Calliope."

"And if he does?" Callie was intrigued with the possibility. "You don't really care about her being Muggleborn anymore?"

"Calliope Malfoy, I play golf with Mr Carew and Mr Murier every Sunday —"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot." Callie giggled. It was their private joke, hers and her grandmother's, about how his grandfather's old cronies would have reacted to Lucius being addicted to this Muggle sport and always going off with these two Muggles who owned the vineyards next to theirs.

"And all idiotic principles about blood were completely banished from my mind when I fell in love with a certain half-blood wench eleven years ago."

Callie smiled and put an arm around her grandfather's waist. He bent and kissed her on the cheek and on the forehead before they started walking again.

"You've sidetracked me. I had a very different reason for asking you for a walk."

"What is it?"

"Well, your idiotic father is so preoccupied with your going to Hogwarts that he's forgotten there is one thing you still need to go to England for that can't be acquired through owl order."

Callie gasped. "My wand!"

* * *

When they arrived back in the house, her father was alone in the portico and the parcels and packages were gone.

"Your grandmother has finally allowed the house-elves to take them to your room," her father said morosely. "She's in her drawing room, Father."

Her grandfather nodded and left them, squeezing Callie on the shoulder and giving her a secret smile.

"Finish your breakfast, love," her father said, not looking at her, but pouting at the magnolias.

"Why are you broody today, Daddy?"

"I'm not," he snapped.

Callie laughed. She was still too merry with her grandfather's coup of an idea.

"Maybe we should go out, to shake you out of it."

"Nice try, chipmunk." He winced at that, as though something in his words brought pain to him. "And where do you propose to go?"

"How about getting my wand with me?"

_"Shite!_ I mean — you didn't hear that, Callie — _I can't believe I forgot your wand!"_

"Well, it's not among those things available through owl order, is it?"

He groaned. "What are we going to do? I can't —"

"Why not? Father, why are you so deathly afraid of going to England? Is my mo — Mum _that_ mad with you?"

"Yes, she is —"

"What did you do?"

"It wasn't me, Callie."

Callie panted slightly. She hadn't realised she'd been holding her breath. Never before had she delved like this about her father and mother's past. All her father and grandparents had told her before whenever she asked was that they'd fought so badly they had to be in two different countries. All of Callie's curiosity reached momentum now at her father's strange queasiness — as if he and her mother had the fight yesterday and not eleven years ago.

"What happened, Daddy? I'm about to go to Hogwarts. I think I'm old enough to know."

"No, love, please —"

"Not even her name?"

"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry, love, especially not her name."

_"Why?_ I promise I won't go looking for her! How could I? I'll be in school —"

Callie was beginning to be frantic with fear and doubt. What happened that her father wouldn't even tell her her mother's name? Was her Mum some... some criminal, maybe? But that didn't make sense, since she was the one who helped clear her father and grandfather's name.

It all clicked suddenly: _'having your mother on our side assured everyone I would not be incarcerated.'_

"She's famous and influential, isn't she?"

Her father gulped visibly.

"Am I not enough for you, Callie?"

"Don't do that, Daddy — I can see right through that Slytherin tactic!"

Her father stared at her. And then laughed. "You're scary sometimes, Calliope."

"Laugh all you want, I'm not giving up on the subject. I need to know — does she hate me, too? Is that's why I'm not supposed to know she's my —"

_"Merlin, Callie, no!"_ Her father was suddenly kneeling down beside her, his arm around her waist, giving her a gentle shake. "Your mother loves you. How could anyone not love you? Don't ever think she has anything against you, love. It's just we had this agreement —"

He grimaced and didn't continue.

"Agreement?" Callie prodded. Her mind was whirling.

Her father went back to his seat and slumped down to the table; the first time she'd ever seen him do so.

When he looked up, his expression was so pained and exhausted that she almost regretted asking her questions. Almost. She held her breath in anticipation, wondering if she was finally about to be enlightened about the mystery behind her parents' separation.

"Callie, your mother and I hurt each other so much we decided never to see each other again. Well, it was her decision, really." He paused, and his eyes looked far-off, reliving the memory. Callie frowned and shook his arm. She was resentful that he would go off like that when she had nothing whatsoever of her mother to recall, too.

Her father took a deep breath and nodded to himself.

"This agreement we had..." he continued, eyes still shining more than usual, "well, you will more or less find it out, I think. You inherited your mother's genius after all. Sooner or later, you'll discover it. But I'd rather not help you by telling you your mother's name. Do you understand?"

"No! That's — what on earth —?" Callie had an insane urge to stomp and shriek and pull her hair. Or maybe her father's hair. He only tortured her further with his cryptic answers!

He smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, love, please don't hate me so much for not telling you. I really can't. Please don't anguish over it. Now, before we lose you to your new books upstairs, let's go get your wand."

At least, he knew how to placate her. Damn Slytherins.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for reading, please tell me what you think. Oh, and before I receive complaints, keep in mind that though this is inspired by the worldwide beloved film, of course I can't just imitate The Parent Trap in every way. I have to depart from it 'a little' (Narcissa's measure), if I still want you to read this! You agree? Bon!


	4. Dad

**Dad

* * *

**

An elephant began trumpeting in her room. Followed by ungodly shrieks that sounded like monkeys being flayed alive. And then, _boom-BOOM, boom-BOOM_, jungle drums. And then the elephant once more. And the chimps in misery. Well, no, they sounded rather gleeful actually, Lia thought, emerging from her blankets with her own snarl, directed at the clock mounted high above her north window. It had been a 'present' from her Uncles Fred and George 'for receiving her Hogwarts letter'. Monkeys, elephants and a boy (in a loincloth of leopard skin) with a crude drum slung around his neck paraded in and out of a hollow sycamore tree.

Lia was sure her dear old Mum had a hand in this 'present'. Moaning, she got up from the bed and ran out of her room. Only when she was down the stairs did her clock stop its racket.

"Well, what will it be? I made peach and strawberry waffles, I made eggs, I made bangers, and we have papaya," her mum said, leading her to the breakfast booth as if she hadn't been just chased off her bedroom by insane jungle noise.

Of course, complaining was moot, so she just obediently slouched at the table and balefully asked, "What in Merlin's pristine beard is papaya?"

Her mum laughed, took a platter from the fridge and laid it on the table. On the platter lay foot-long cuts of orange-coloured fruit with many black seeds. Her mother took one long slice onto her plate, scraping off the seeds, and cut and forked the fruit into her mouth. "It's delicious, love. Has a unique refreshing tang. The Ministry received several crates as a gift from the Philippine delegation of wizards and witches who visited last week."

Still scowling at her unholy wake-up call, Lia accepted the piece of papaya her mum offered her. Mmm, yeah, it was nice. It might just be her new favourite fruit. Apples were crispier, but not this smooth and... un-tart-y. It wasn't often to find delicious un-tart-y fruits. Usually, if they weren't tart, they were icky sweet. The papaya was just right. Juicy, too.

"Hey! Leave some for us!"

"You eat as though your mother starves you, Lia."

"Are your eyes _green_?"

Lia turned around to find her mother peering up at her Uncles Fred and George, the devils. They'd just climbed out of the Floo. They were dusting soot off their dragon-hide jackets. And yes, their eyes were green. So green they looked like walking talking Christmas decor. Lia swallowed her mouthful of papaya and laughed in spite of her resolve to be a grouch that day.

"It's a prototype. We're getting near perfecting it. Just a few more tweaks because the eye colour seems to adapt to clothes."

"Changing eye-colour now, are you? I'd like amethyst," her mother quipped, setting plates for her uncles.

"Certainly, Hermione. And what about you, you starved crow?" Uncle Fred asked, examining a papaya seed cross-eyed.

"I like my eyes as they are, thank you," Lia answered. She beat Uncle George on the last slice of papaya on the platter. Her mum beamed at her and kissed her on both cheeks after placing another papaya, this time unpeeled and uncut, huge and bulky, by Uncle George's elbow.

"Cut that up and just hit it with a cooling charm, George. I need to go and get dressed."

Lia caught her mother's eyes giving her an apologetic look.

"Oh, the hearing? It's okay, Mum. I'll cope."

Her mother worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry. They had even offered her a seat in the Wizengamot, the youngest witch to be so honoured, but she had refused it, knowing how demanding it would be of her time. Her time which was mostly devoted to Lia. Nevertheless, the Ministry gave her honorary judicial membership where she could choose which cases to handle and sit in.

Of course, Hermione Granger being Hermione Granger, it was nearly the same as having her as head of the department. She worked as such, and was also treated as such. The Head of DMLE, Julius Menis, was even quite besotted with her.

At which thought Lia scowled.

"Thinking about Mr Tiny Menis, aren't you?"

She glanced at Uncle Fred, who was eating and finishing every slice as soon as Uncle George cut one and then another. "Tiny Menis?"

"Oh, you know, he has small mrains and a tiny menis, too."

_"Fred!"_

Lia roared with laughter as her Uncle Ron entered the kitchen from the living room, shaking off ash from his shirt.

"What are you telling Lia — if Hermione hears you —"

"If I hear what?"

Her mother was back, her hair twisted in a not-so-tidy-and-sleek French pleat. But it suited her because the rest of her was perfect, neat and elegant, from the collar of her deep red satin robes to the tip of her modestly-heeled matching pumps. Lia drank her in with her eyes. She felt like she fancied her mother whenever Hermione looked that poised and pretty.

"If I hear what, Ron? What are your uncles talking about, Lia? Are you sure you'll be fine? Everything's in the fridge, you can —"

Lia shook herself out of her slight daze. She grinned, too. It wasn't often her mum called her by her nickname. "Mum, you're acting like this is your first hearing! I've survived before, I'll survive again."

"Without knocking off any teeth? They're nearly all permanent now, you know. If you —"

"We can grow it back, no problem."

And then Uncle George cowered behind the second papaya he was carving at the glare he received. Lia suppressed giggling. She met Uncle Ron's eyes and they both looked away hastily.

"I'll meet you at Ollivander's, alright? Fred, George, Ron —"

"We'll be fine, Hermione, I'll keep an eye on them."

"Thank you, Ron. But honestly, you all spoil Thalia, you know!"

But her mum was smiling now, kissing them all on the cheek. Lia was, too, because what her mum said was true. She was the baby of the Grangers, the Weasleys and the Potters! Well, Uncle Bill and Fleur have Tori now, but Lia was first and still wielding the sceptre. It humbled and puffed her up at the same time. She might not have her father, but she had her Uncles, Aunties and Nanas and Poppies... iWho was she kidding? She still wanted her father, too./i

"Thalia?"

Her mum was looking at her slightly perturbed. Lia smiled. Her mum pressed their foreheads together and then kissed the tip of her nose. "Don't forget to brush. I already fixed your bed for you, you can repay me by being nice and looking nice later. I'll take pictures. Your first wand!"

Hermione sniffed. Lia grimaced. She knew what was coming.

"I can't believe you're off to Hogwarts, love."

To Lia's consternation, even Uncle Fred and George's green eyes were sparkling more than usual.

"Yeah, our wee mite is such a woman now."

"Our wee mite who used to puke nastily down our shoulders."

"But Ron was her favourite."

"Damn right I am, aren't I, Lia?"

"Ron! Language, please. I'll be off now, I'm nearly late."

Lia received another smothering hug and a kiss and then her mother was gone with a subtle and elegant POP.

"I meant you're her favourite to puke on," Uncle Fred remarked tremulously. And then he and Uncle George lost it and roared with laughter, and Lia, though mortified that she was the one doing the puking in the joke, laughed right along. It was just so fun teasing her favourite uncle.

Dad or no dad, her school shopping was going to be fantastic.

* * *

"Uncle Ron, I've noticed something odd. Mum never seems to be in any of the papers, does she?"

They were having lunch in the breakfast booth with the breakfast food. Bangers and mash could beat salmon or sardines any day. Uncle Fred was the one carving another papaya now. Uncle George's spoon paused ever so lightly as he swiped off the seeds on his slice. Lia noticed all three men fail to exchange looks subtly. She frowned.

She was reading the Daily Prophet, which had put together a nice feature about the war heroes and heroines all over again due to her Uncle Harry's approaching birthday. Lia was used to such things, but it always pleased her to read praise toward her mother and their close friends. But by now, she noticed that her mother never, inever/i had her picture in the papers. Lia had always cherished a secret yen to see her mum's pretty face in print.

Uncle Ron cleared his throat, speared another sausage and grinned. "Well, she's not," he said nonchalantly. "She doesn't like publicity, your Mum. We've had enough of that even in school. Didn't she tell you that one about Rita Skeeter?"

Lia just nodded. It didn't make sense. The Prophet even knew her mother's favourite Bean flavour. Uncle Ron seemed to notice she wasn't satisfied with his answer and shrugged. "Your mum just doesn't want everyone knowing her face, that's all. She doesn't like being disturbed and imposed on, you know. Imagine her in Flourish and Blotts, prowling the shelves, and then besieged by people for autographs —"

"It would be the last thing they'd do," Uncle Fred said through a mouthful of papaya. "Though I wonder what Hermione can still visit bookstores for."

Lia grinned, pacified.

"Can't we go yet?"

"You can't boot us out in this heat, miss. We have the shop well in Verity's capable hands and feet and these papayas are heavenly. We'll wait 'til it's not so dog hot anymore."

"We do have toilets in the Diagon Alley, don't we?" asked Lia, gathering dishes and placing them on the sink.

"Why do you ask?"

"For you, my dear gluttonous uncles."

* * *

At five o'clock, after playing two-a-side Quidditch in the 'backyard' and eating more papaya (in the case of Lia's twin uncles) while listening to a Cannons game against the Highlanders on the wireless, they Floo-ed to Diagon Alley at last. Lia had wanted to Side-Along, but her mother would have none of it. _"We never Side-Along-ed until we were sixteen, Thalia, and only your Uncle Harry did that, too, not me. Nana Molly said she never let your uncles and Aunt Ginny to Side-Along either when they were young."_

Of course, Lia could have argued that she wasn't 'young' any more, but when her mum said 'Nana Molly said', nothing else could sway her. Not even Nana Helen.

She thought these things and more as she spun in the green whirlwind, keeping her elbows tucked in because her greatest fear was dark elbows.

At last, she slid out of the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes' hearth.

Uncle Ron had slipped her school list under the wireless when they went out to play Quidditch. Lia growled and Uncles Fred and George held her back as Uncle Ron went back to get it.

After that, it was her uncles who were fit to be tied. Lia could be exasperating. Their own fault, too, because they'd doted on her more than Hermione had advised them to.

"Mum said I can get an owl!"

"But who'll carry it while we hop from store to store, witch?"

"Look, let's go in and try that new pistachio."

"Lia, we have to get your robes and Madam Malkin won't let you in if you have ice cream."

"I'll finish it before we go in."

"But we're getting your robes now."

But they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"Wicked."

"Wicked."

"Wicked."

_"Wicked._ Honestly. You need a new tagline, uncles."

There was a new Nimbus iand/i a new Comet out. Not as sensational as the Lightning Bolts, but still.

"Excuse me, you've been standing there for fifteen minutes already. I've timed you since we arrived. Can I have my turn now?"

"Lia! Your mother said to be polite!"

"I _was_ polite! And he budged for _me,_ Uncle Ron, move over!"

After ogling the brooms, they did contrive to buy what they needed to buy, with many moments between when Ron, Fred or George wanted to strangle their precious Lia.

"Mum always said to get the value of my Knut, and the value of my Knut is ruined if I get a quill that doesn't agree with me; give me fifteen minutes with this one, it takes that long for a quill to be 'broken'."

"These parchments are a tad too thin for my tastes and you know I have a strong penmanship, Uncle Ron."

"But can't I really get other titles on the same subject? I mean I've memorised _these_ already!"

"Pewter is overrated. I'd much rather get stainless steel."

"Oh, you're a darling hooter. You, too, yes, you, too! And you're a lovely snow queen, aren't _you? Your _chest is puffed up, sir, shall I get you? I want a lady, though, so she can sympathise with me. What's your heartache, madam? Your eyes are like topazes, but you're too monochromatic. Oh, _how_ can I pick, Uncle Ron — we've only been here two minutes and you already have owl poop on your hair."

"The sleeves are still too short, I think, Madam."

Unlike Ron, Fred and George who had long been reduced to silent suffering, Madam Malkin clicked her tongue impatiently. "My dear, any longer and you won't be able to stir a cauldron without your sleeve sieving the potion."

After that, Lia was subdued, though it was because her mum still hadn't come. It was going on seven. Her uncles took her to The Leaky Cauldron to eat.

The moment they came in, Tom hailed them over, waving a green envelope.

"Ministry owls flocked here awhile ago. There's been some kerfuffle in the Ministry and every employee has to stay. This one is addressed to Miss Granger. The Ministry sent them but I bet you'll find a note from your mother, too, lassie. Quite a number of children out for shopping also got notes from their parents."

Lia's heart was somewhere around her knees. She was glad she was sitting down already. She opened the envelope and ignored the Ministry's calligraphy, only reading the small piece of stationery she recognised, which came from her mother's otter stamped notepad.

_Thalia, Ron, Fred, George,_

_I'm fine, we all are, there's just been a ridiculous rumpus in the courtroom and a pack of vicious lies. I'll tell you about it later. But I'm afraid I might not get out of here in time to get your wand with you, Thalia. I don't want to put it off; you've waited for so long. You can go and get it with your uncles. I'm so sorry._

_Mum_

Even as she sighed in relief, Lia sighed again, this time in disappointment.

Getting her wand was something she and her mum had dreamed about, and it was such an anticlimax that she was getting it with her uncles instead. She loved them, but they weren't her mum.

Of course, she could put it off for tomorrow, but her mum was right — it was too painful to leave Diagon Alley with her books, robes and quills but without her first wand.

And Lia knew she couldn't trust her moods at all. If she sulked about not having her wand, and she was liable to sulk, she would hurt her mother.

"So?"

Lia sadly smiled at Uncle Ron. "It won't be the same, but I really want to get my wand already. And who knows, Mum might pop in just at the last second."

Uncle Ron frowned for a moment. "Oh, yeah. Of course, squirt. But I was only going to ask, ribs, lamb or beef? Let's have the roast, okay?"

Uncles Fred and George rolled their eyes and Lia grinned. Her Uncle Ron always managed to soothe her, though unwittingly.

* * *

"Why did you have to tell your Aunt Pansy we were coming? What do you see in her anyway? Why are you so close? You are as unlike her as... cream to cheese."

Lia grinned at the metaphor. The girl inside laughed outright at her father.

Lia was sitting in the newly-installed bench just outside Ollivander's. Her uncles were in different toilets that moment (The roast disagreed with all that papaya). Mr Ollivander seemed to be having supper. The shop was open, though, no doubt securely warded against thieving.

She would have gone in, but there were already people inside. And not just mere people. A father and daughter. Something made Lia sit outside instead, listening to them with a mixture of amusement and envy.

Both the girl and his father had black hair. Their skin was too pale for it. They were dressed nicely, too, though Lia never much fancied such fancy girly clothes such as the daughter wore. They were about the same age; they had to be, since the girl was also getting her first wand. Lia sat with her back to them, so aside from their colouring and clothes, she observed no more, just pinned her ears back on their easy conversation.

"Aunt Pansy, cheese, wait 'til she hears that."

"You will not tell her. And look where she's landed us."

"She says you've gotten soft."

"I did _not. You_ seemed eager to stay to lunch, so we stayed. _You _seemed acquiescent to stay to tea, so we stayed, too."

"But little Thea is such a sweet baby, you know. I wish I have a sister like that."

"You call it sweet? Turning our hair this hideous shade of black?"

"It was an accident, and the spell will last only another hour. Aren't you proud you're the receiver of her first magic?"

"Well, I'm glad she only changed my hair colour. Not, say, my nose."

"Daddy, I've been thinking —"

"When do you not think?"

"Why don't you marry again?"

"Because there's no one worth it."

"You still love my mother, don't you?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"If it is, blame yourself. It's from you I learned all about trick questions and don't change the subject."

_"Thalia!_ Where are your uncles? Why are you out here all alone?"

Lia abandoned her musings about how endearing it was the way the girl was bossing her father and turned to her mother. A little frazzled, a little weary, but still beautiful. She launched herself to her mum's arms, causing Hermione to tumble into the door of Ollivander's.

A sturdy shelf and counter saved them from rolling on the floor. Only then did her mum squeak in relief and hugged her back just as tightly.

"My goodness, you can be so fierce with your embraces, can't you? Oh, I'm sorry, I hope we didn't disturb you," Hermione said aside to the father and daughter in the room, but her eyes were on Lia's upturned face. "Did your uncles feed you? Have you got all your things? Did you leave the house in chaos? Did you eat a gallon of ice cream again?"

Lia answered with two nods and two shakes of the head, and then burrowed her face on her mum's bosom, inhaling her sweet scent. She did this out of love and... well, the other girl might have a wonderful father, but Lia had a wonderful mother.

"Oh, there they are. Let's go outside for a bit, we can't all crowd in here and I have some things to ask and tell your uncles."

Having done her show, Lia consented to be led outside, drinking in the look of longing in the other girl's face from her peripheral vision.

* * *

Her wand was eleven-and-a-quarter-inch maple, supple, dragon heartstring. It was snug in its box in Lia's magically and ridiculously early packed school trunk. Now she was on her window seat, gazing at the stars and kneading a ball of jade green clay in her hand.

Her north window looked out toward the hills, where nothing obstructed her view of the sky. Many were the nights in her childhood when her mother had to carry her to bed because she always fell asleep staring at the twinkling, velvety view.

But tonight, though the moon was a perfect sickle and the stars winked as though they were teasing you with their secrets, Lia was not looking at them and wishing she could pluck them. Instead she was wishing she had a father, whom she could boss and tease the way that girl at Ollivander's did to _her_ dad.

"Already plotting mischief for the party tomorrow?"

Lia blinked. Her mum was turning back her bedcovers. Lia obligingly left her cosy oriole window and let her mum tuck her in. She was already getting used to her new bedtime. Perhaps tomorrow she would escape her room before the stupid jungle clock started its din.

"Mum?"

"Hmm?" Hermione sat down on the bed.

"Do you think I might... meet siblings at Hogwarts?"

Her mother didn't answer. Only stared.

"Not this year, I guess. But later, you know," Lia amended.

"Oh." Her mother paused for several moments and looked away. Lia said nothing. When her mother turned back, were her eyes glassy because of sleepiness or something else? "You think your... your f-father might have other children now?"

Lia nodded.

"Would that hurt you, Thalia?"

"No. _No, Mum,_" she emphasised, because her mum looked disturbed. "Not really. But I like to, you know, be prepared somehow."

"Oh."

"Mum, you have to tell me his name."

"I — I don't see the point in that, Thalia. You were asking if you might meet siblings. There's no possibility of that, because your father's in —"

"In...?" Lia prompted.

"In another country where there's also a prominent Wizarding school. So if he has children, they'd go there, not Hogwarts."

"So I think I can know his name then. If there's no danger of my meeting siblings."

Her mother studied her for a long time. Lia squirmed, but tenaciously returned the gaze. And then, to Lia's surprise, her mum snuggled in beside her under the summer quilt.

"His name is Draco Malfoy." 


	5. Their story

**Their story

* * *

**

Lia understood then why her mother had lain down. She wasted no time locking Hermione's arm in a tight grip. Questions bombarded her mind and she sputtered for several seconds as her tongue tried and failed to keep up.

Her mother laughed wearily. "One at a time."

"Wasn't he the one who tried to kill Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"He nearly killed Uncle Ron."

"Yes."

"He's a Death Eater."

"Was."

"You slapped him in third year."

"Yes."

"He always called you a Mudblood."

"Used to."

_"What happened?"_

Her mother took a deep breath. "You know we weren't planning to return to Hogwarts for seventh year because we'd rather search for the Horcruxes. But we believed one was at Hogwarts, so we still went. Besides, Uncle Harry wanted to talk to Professor Dumbledore's portrait. The plan was that once we find the Hogwarts horcrux, we leave.

"But then the Ministry fell just when we were all ensconced in school. It was as if they waited until we were there. Professor McGonagall was ousted as Headmistress and replaced by Professor Snape. This was before we knew Professor Snape was really on our side.

"Anyway, under Voldemort's control, the 'Ministry' passed new laws. One of these laws was that Muggleborns should prove —"

"Having at least one wizard or witch in their ancestry or else be imprisoned for stealing magic. I know all that, Mum. Where does Da — my father — come in?"

"Well, he captured me—"

_"What?"_

Hermione held up a hand to signal her to be patient.

"I lifted the Anti-Disapparition jinx in the Gryffindor common room. My first attempt isn't as sophisticated and strong though; the undoing could last only one minute. We could tell by the weak yellow light that glowed for a second around the room after I made the incantation. And even if it did last longer, the alarm raised would allow no time wasted. We Disapparated, your uncles and I. But in my haste and desperation, I dropped the charmed little purse where all of our things were. It was indispensable and it was unthinkable to let it fall to Death Eater hands because of the book about Horcruxes there, so I came back —"

"And Dad caught you?" The word was out before Lia could stop herself. But she found she liked it. "How did D-dad know the password? Wasn't he a Slytherin?"

"Yes, no, well, my Stunner was there to meet him. The Fat Lady has sought refuge somewhere. Your father blasted through the portrait hole. Now, I've been studying Legilimency since our fifth year when your Uncle Harry was being intruded on by Voldemort. I used what I knew then. I performed Legilimency on your — your father, while he was Stunned, hoping I would see escape routes in his mind or a room where there aren't Death Eaters. You can't undo the Anti-Disapparition jinx in one room twice in one day so the common room was useless to me just then. The Floo was long sealed. I tried to find a way out from your father's mind. Only, I found more than I bargained for."

Lia drew in breath. When her mother only continued to stare over Lia's shoulder however, Lia wriggled childishly. "Mum! So what did you see in his mind? How do you do Legilimency anyway?"

Her mother shook her head as though to clear it, and then shook it again, this time at her. "It's deceitful magic, Lia. Legilimency is to trespass someone else's mind. Occlumency is shutting your mind to such an invasion. They're magic for snakes and liars. Your Uncle Harry failed dismally at Occlumency because he's honest. I only resorted to Legilimency because —"

"You were desperate. I know, Mum, go on. What did you see in D-dad's mind?"

"His own desperation. And his hate, toward me and those like me and to the master he serves."

"Voldemort?"

"Yes. Your father was as fanatical about pureblood superiority as ever but he hated Voldemort."

"So...?"

"He woke up just when I was about to leave and he bound me. I told him that if he harmed me, I'll tell everyone that he wanted Voldemort defeated and killed by Harry. He was horrified, not because of my threat, but because of what's now in my mind, too. Anyone, especially Voldemort, could Legilimens it out of me. So he hid me."

"Wow... but wait, couldn't he have just Oblivated you or something?"

"Clever girl. Obli_vi-ate_, hon. And no, Legilimency, combined with the persuasion of the Cruciatus, can break through memory charms. And of course, Voldemort is a connoisseur of both curses."

"So what did he do?"

"He stuffed me in my own purse."

_"What?"_

"He stuffed me in my own purse," Hermione repeated with a laugh. "I dropped it again; he heard the sound, and put two and two together. The purse was a silly little beaded thing, and I wouldn't have been carrying it around if it wasn't important or useful, see. So after its heavy thud, he surmised it was magically expanded and stuffed me inside. Don't look so appalled, love, it was roomy in there, I wasn't the least uncomfortable, if you didn't count my fear for your uncles and frustration for my situation."

"And fury at D-dad?"

"Yes, that, too."

"But you assured me he didn't rape you and you had me so your fury must have evaporated some time."

"Stop smirking, Thalia! You give me the shudders."

"Answer me."

"Yes."

"How?"

Lia hugged her mother's arm. Hermione looked at her ruefully and then her eyes glazed over, as though she went back in time. Lia stilled, careful not to startle her mother from the memories. How Lia had waited for this recount. Ever since she was four, when she had wished for a Dad and was told she already had one, only far away, like a star, there but not to be had.

"He was a prat, Thalia, but he can be courteous, you know. He just didn't deem me worthy of it before. He could have starved or suffocated me to death in that purse, but he didn't. And at night, he let me out so he can vent his frustration on me. He was vicious with words, but he never laid a hand on me. He hated me because I was another secret he had to hide. And then, one day, his mother was 'accidentally' cursed. We were no longer at Hogwarts this time, understand, but at Malfoy Manor. So Professor Snape, whomich your father trusted, was out of reach, and Voldemort was away, too — there was no one who knew how to heal Narcissa —"

Lia gasped in spite of her resolve to be still as a mouse. "That's her name?"

"Yes."

"It's pretty."

"She's as pretty, love."

"I wish I could see her."

Her mother blinked and took a deep breath. "Where was I?"

"There was no one to heal Narcissa. What happened to her?"

"I don't know. But your father said there was a gash on her arm, she was bleeding. Your father asked me if I might know what to do. I had essence of dittany with me, I gave it to him. It fixed her. From then on, your father was less vindictive to me."

"And you fell in love?"

Her mother winced. "No. Not right away. But we've gone through enough things to be less than enemies... And... it started from there."

"What started from there?"

"Thalia."

"Go on, Mum, the sooner you finish the tale, the less you'll ruin my bedtime."

Hermione gasped and made to leap from the bed. But Lia had her arm in a vise-like hold.

"You vixen, let me go. Like your father did."

"He did?"

"Yes. On more than one occasion."

"What do you mean? Were you captured again?"

"Thalia, it's time you went to bed."

The tone was cool, and Lia knew better than to argue when her mother used that tone. The tone which meant she was furious or fighting not to be furious. This was the first time Lia had been the recipient of the tone. It had always been either one of her uncles, or that idiot Mr Menis, never Lia. Her mother never seemed to lose patience and love for her.

As Hermione tucked her under her summer coverlet, Lia saw the rapid way she blinked.

"I'm sorry, Mum."

"No, I'm sorry, Lia, please—"

Her mother plopped down by her side and smothered her cheeks with kisses. Lia rolled her eyes but didn't squirm away. "I shouldn't have tempted you with the tale, eh? I'll finish it, I promise, just not now. Not yet. I didn't realise I'm still a little—"

"He must have really hurt you, didn't he?"

Across the channel, hundreds of miles away, another eleven-year-old girl with the same inquisitiveness and the same yearning for a parent as for a star, asked her father, "You really hurt Mum, didn't you?"

* * *

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Well, she won't see us! And you go so pasty when I suggest seeing her or even just mention 'England'— see?"

Was it her imagination or did her Dad almost turn to look at his reflection in her dressing mirror? Callie bit her cheeks to smother a grin. This talk was supposed to be serious. She patted her folded hands primly on top of her light duvet and regarded her father as sombrely as she could.

"How about just expanding on your theory instead of casting aspersions to your father's complexion, which, might I remind you, is your complexion, too?"

"Oh no, my complexion is more like Grandmother's. Peaches and cream, not — not mere cream."

Her father roared with laughter. "Yeah, yeah, peaches and cream. But it's more your mother's than your grandmother's, I reckon."

Callie refrained from gloating. They were back on her mother. "See, you even talk quite fondly of her, so how could anyone conclude ishe/i hurt iyou?"/i

Her father lost his smile. "But she did."

Callie gasped._ "Daddy—"_

He was next to her in an instant. "No, love, don't squeak like that. It's scary."

"She hurt you?"

"It's complicated. But if you ever see anyone named Zabini, give him or her hell from me, got it?"

_"What — Who?"_

"Just kidding. I suppose you should give everyone a chance."

"Father, you're talking in riddles."

"I'm afraid that's the only way I can talk. And you love riddles." He mussed her hair. Callie recoiled.

"I just brushed it!" she moaned, smoothing it back down with her fingers. "So you won't tell me her name, right?"

"Right."

"So tell me your story instead."

"Your bedtime will be ruined, and your grandmother will have my hide if you're late two mornings in a row. Young ladies should always be early to bed and early to rise—"

"I'll settle for the short version."

"Really? You promise you iwill/i settle? No questions asked afterward?"

Callie considered it. She might lose this. "The short version should be at least ten sentences. And you'll allow me... three — no, five — questions subsequently. _And you can't lie to me!"_

_"Only_ subsequently. You shan't interrupt my ten sentences."

_"At least_ ten sentences. Feel free to go overboard."

Tapping a finger on his cheek, her father added, "For every interruption, you forfeit a question."

Callie grabbed a pillow and held it tight over her lower face.

"Don't choke yourself."

Exasperated, Callie thumped him on the belly with the pillow. "I won't! Just begin already, Dad!"

"Your mother and I were enemies—"

"You mean she worked for Voldemort or was she in the Ord—?" Callie trailed off and moaned.

"Forfeit! Where was I? Your mother and I were enemies. We had a... reckoning. But the reckoning was more on my part. She wasn't the vengeful type, as proven by your grandmother's presence in your life —"

"What do you mean—?"

"Forfeit. You ought to control your compulsions, Calliope, not the other way around. That had been our mutual motto, your mother's and mine." Here, he paused, but with a glare Callie bit her lips shut. He grinned.

"So where was I again?" He counted off his sentences. "Your mother and I were enemies. We had a reckoning. But the reckoning was only on my part. Her — hmmm, ehem,_ she _wasn't the vengeful type, as proven by your grandmother's presence in your life. From then on, we were no longer enemies as we once were. I respected her. And then I loved her. She loved me back enough to trust me with... well, her honour." At his pause, Callie nodded to signify she understood. And then her father sighed.

"But she didn't trust me enough to believe me when imy/i honour became in question. And that is why we're here and they're there."

Callie only stared at him.

"I'm done, love. You can talk now. You have three questions."

Callie swallowed. A million questions were vying for her mind to grasp and for her tongue to utter but she plucked the one that stunned her. When she'd first heard it, her heart had done some sort of jig, like when she just _knew_ she had come upon some subtle, but giant clue in a mystery novel.

_"They?"_

Her father blinked. He shrugged a tad too casually, it didn't look casual at all. "Oh, I meant your mum and her family and friends."

Somehow, that answer, though perfectly plausible, didn't satisfy Callie. But she didn't press. "Was that Zabini person the one who put your honour in question?"

"You're so sharp, Callie. Yes. And don't attempt to ask your grandparents or Aunt Pansy about him. They won't tell you a thing."

"I'll find that out for myself, thank you, Father."

"You'll only waste effort and time. Why don't you ask me instead?"

"No, I only have one question left. And it's this: My mother's name doesn't start with 'Her' or even 'Herm', does it?"

* * *

** Lia's Notes:** Shame I didn't get more out of my Mum, isn't it? But everything will come to light, I'm sure. It will be boring if the little mystery's uncovered this early. Perhaps I can find out more when I get to Hogwarts. I know my Dad's name now. Who knows what else I will find through knowing it?

**Callie's Notes:** I wonder how my Dad will get out of my question, haha! I'm almost afraid of his answer. Because there's this well-known English witch with an unusual name that starts with 'Herm'! I've never seen her though. It's only her name I know from the papers. I wonder if she has brown hair.

**Author's Notes:** Please review! :) Thank you!


	6. Sweet sorrow

**Sweet sorrow

* * *

**

Draco almost flinched at being caught. He not only considered lying, he actually already tasted the lie in his teeth.

He didn't like the taste. And damn it all, he was certainly not about to spit out something vile to his daughter.

He took a deep breath. "That's an unfair question, Callie."

She gaped and glared at him. He barely noticed. He was on a roll, his brain chugging a mile a minute as he worked it out. It was all he could do not to sigh in relief.

"...how it's unfair! Only if you lie to me!" Callie was saying.

"It's unfair because if I answer either way, I'm telling you your mother's name, and I told you I can't do that. Who's to know you'll stop at 'Her' and 'Herm'? You can't ask me to eliminate name syllables to narrow down your search."

Callie stopped opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish and scowled, staring at him suspiciously. Draco kept his face impassive, but he let a grin tug at his mouth, to show her it was no big deal and that he was amused at having trumped a question. It was the exact opposite of how he felt. Merlin, she was sharp! He was a third exasperated, a third cowed and a third bloody proud of her.

Suddenly, she hung her head. "I can't see why I can't know her name anyway," she said quietly. "That agreement was only between the two of you. _I _didn't agree to anything. I think every child has a right to know who her mother is."

It felt like someone clobbered him with a Bludger bat. iAnd/i Bludgers pummelling him everywhere. His stomach clenched, his jaw clenched, he wanted to cry out. He also wanted to pound a certain snake's face.

But the snake was nowhere near. There was only Callie. Poor Callie. Draco wrapped both arms around her waist and pulled her to him, cradling her in his lap like he used to do when she was smaller. "You do know her, love. You don't need her name. You _know_ your mother. I see her in you. How and why else do you think I get by, huh?"

Callie turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He pleaded to her with his eyes. She sighed. And like the little woman she was, she showed him mercy and let the matter drop. Draco dropped his forehead on her nape and did what probably all fathers did: silently vowed he would protect her and keep her safe and happy. Without need of her mother.

* * *

Hermione poked owl treats through the bars of the cage. The tawny peeked with one eye at the noise and then tucked her head back under her wing. Bizarre. A non-nocturnal owl. Hermione wondered what name Lia would come up with for this bird.

The cage was in the kitchen because Hermione had been afraid the coming and going of the owl might disturb Lia in her sleep.

Quietly, Hermione went to the window she had left open for the bird and drew it shut. They could just let the bird out in the morning. In the meantime, Hermione could do without the unseasonably chill breeze wafting in.

Or was it just her? Shivering in the memories?

She'd thought the hurt had long healed. But awhile ago, she seemed to have peeled off the scab. Now the wound was exposed again. And as with all exposed wounds, it stung.

"Mum?"

Hermione jumped. "Thalia. Merlin, don't do that again."

"Do what again? Just kidding, Mum. Sorry. Why are you still awake?"

"I should be the one asking you that." Hermione retreated from the moonlight, moving toward the stairs. Her cheeks were wet. She didn't want Lia to see. "Come on, back to bed with you."

"I only got up to get some water, Mum. My jug's empty. You don't have to tuck me back in."

"I want to. The nights I tuck you in are numbered now."

Thalia made a small noise of exasperation. She joined Hermione on the stairs with a jug of water, the ice cubes tinkling inside it as they climbed up together. Thalia was yawning, leaning on her mother's arm.

She did let Hermione tuck her in again. For some minutes though, Hermione remained sitting there, gazing at her daughter's face. She almost jumped again when Thalia opened her eyes.

"Mum, were you crying downstairs?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out.

"I'm sorry I prodded you about D-dad. I won't do it again."

Hermione felt it best to just smile and kiss Thalia. She buried her face in her daughter's neck and breathed her in. Her panacea.

* * *

"It's supposed to be _my_ birthday. How come this chit's got more presents?"

"Leave her alone. Do you want more ice cream, Lia?"

Hermione grinned to herself but shook her head at Ginny, who was afflicted with a weird kind of the doldrums these days. She hated Harry and doted on Lia with such ferocity that Hermione always needed all the Weasleys' help just to get Lia home without Ginny bursting into tears. "She's had more than enough ice cream, Ginny."

Ginny sniffed and freshened Lia's butterbeer instead. Hermione smiled until Ginny turned away. Leaning toward Harry, she whispered, "All this sugar will come out later. I'm thinking of making Lia sleep over."

"No, Hermione!" Harry whispered back, mocking horror.

They laughed companionably. Fred and George yelled for Lia from the garden at that moment. Lia promptly jumped up and parted the sea of people like Moses to get to her uncles, not that the people didn't make way for her either. She was the baby of the party, always had been and always would be until —

"When is Ginny due?"

"In the first week of February."

Hermione smirked. "Did you conceive on Beltane?"

Harry sputtered into his butterbeer. Hermione thumped him on the back, laughing. "You don't have to answer that. But I'll have you know Beltane conceptions are special."

"Like Lia?"

"Yes. But they came overdue, you know."

Hermione smiled at that, and then grew quiet. She jumped when she heard a loud smack beside her. Harry had hit his own forehead.

"Are you alright, Hermione? I'm so sorry —"

"I'm fine," she squeaked, before choking into a sob.

Harry immediately cast Muffliato and pulled Hermione off the couch to the kitchen, where no one, especially not Lia, would see Hermione crying.

"Ron and I knew this was coming, with Lia going to Hogwarts and all," Harry said, putting an arm around her.

Hermione nodded, crushing her handkerchief to her face. "Calliope, Harry, Calliope. I'm so ridden with guilt and longing. She'd be going to school this year, too. I wish I could —"

Harry made her drink water. Voicing her wishes would only be more painful. "I'm sure her father's taking care of her."

Hermione gasped, and then smiled faintly. As though reading her thoughts, Harry scowled. "That doesn't mean I think well of the bastard. I'm just reassuring you and I know your daughters' charms. I mean, if Lia's any indication, that wanker's probably head-over-heels over Calliope like we are over Lia."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Thalia knows about her father now, you know. Going to Hogwarts triggered questions."

Harry nodded. "I didn't expect anything less. Wait, she knows _everything?_"

Hermione shook her head sadly. "No, of course not. She doesn't know why her father and I separated ways. She doesn't know she has a twin sister. I envy her ignorance."

"It's going to be alright, Hermione," said a new voice.

Harry lifted the Muffliato as Ron draped his arm around her shoulder. "We'll be with you all the way."

Hermione smiled. He'd said the exact same thing eleven years ago. She felt like crying again and scolded herself inwardly. "How do you know what we were talking about?" she said lightly instead.

"I'm not daft," Ron said, scowling at her and Harry. "_I _saw this coming, you know."

"Harry said so."

"So when I saw you two here — Don't worry, Hermione. And we'll also be there at King's Cross, the whole lot of us."

"Of course we will, you dolt."

It was Ginny, who grabbed a dish towel with a malevolent look at Harry, who just smiled back timidly. "I'm not letting my Lia leave for school without me, and no one had better try make me stay in bed no matter how much I puke."

* * *

"You're making me dizzy, Draco, will you please sit down?"

Draco sat down. But only because his legs chose that moment to give. Pansy had moved to another orchid and allowed him to see the grandfather clock inside the sitting room through the sliding glass doors of the terrace.

Only five more hours and his baby girl would be on her way to Hogwarts. Less than five hours and he'd be at Platform Nine and Three Quarters after more than a decade. And he knew he'd be standing there right along with iher and their other daughter/i.

"It won't be that bad. The platform will be teeming," said Pansy Fisher. She smiled over at him from between the foliage of her ferns and flowers. Even now, Draco always needed to blink to even recognise his friend. Aside from the same black hair and the same pouting pug-like face, almost no trace of the old self-absorbed spoiled bint there. Pansy had been charmed and bewitched by a Muggle (several hexes and even a Memory charm from her notwithstanding) and had been transfigured into a sweet motherly creature.

The Malfoys had stayed at the Fishers' East Sussex home overnight and would later go to King's Cross together. Patrick Fisher was a lawyer and his family was quite more than respectable, though Muggle. Draco was still not clear where the bloke was ensnared by Pansy's charms, (probably when Pansy made the rounds of Muggle London after war), but he seemed ensnared still. No wonder Pansy was so... benevolent.

At the moment, Patrick was upstairs, tending to little Thea, their daughter, while Pansy had her daily respite among her plants. Only the four of them were awake yet. There was no hurry. Callie being Callie, she had packed all her Hogwarts things in July.

This left Draco with nothing else to do than stew in his nerves and... there was something else, a feeling which made him only a quarter-reluctant to go to King's Cross.

"I'm actually excited and _hoping_ I'd get a glimpse of your other daughter."

Draco felt the blood leave his head. For a moment, he wondered whether he'd thought aloud. Pansy chuckled, but not unkindly. "Drink your tea before you faint."

"Honestly, Father, one would think I'm going across the Atlantic. And one would think you're not a man. Aren't fathers usually glad to get rid of their daughters, Aunt Pansy?"

Oh, there she was. Why didn't he hear her, sense her coming? She kissed both his cheeks and hugged him for good measure. "I'll miss you, too, you know. I'll owl you every day."

Pansy sniffled into her Lady's Slippers. Draco scowled at her, but her image blurred, his eyes were stinging!

Horrified, he buried his face into Callie's shoulder. "Do me a favour, love, and wear those slippers until we get to King's Cross."

Pansy tip-tapped over in her heels and joined Callie in looking down at the latter's feet, and at the pink bunny slippers encasing them. The two females exchanged bemused looks, but didn't comment.

Pansy shook a hand bell on the table. Sadie, Pansy's young Muggle maid attired in a baby pink and grey tartan uniform, came. "Breakfast, ma'am? Right away. Is that all?"

"Tell my husband to come down with Thea, please."

Sadie bobbed a curtsy. No wonder Pansy adored her. Draco resisted rolling his eyes and instead stroked Callie's hair.

"This is a first."

"What is, Daddy?"

"You're not dressed."

"Well, I can't wear my Hogwarts robes until I'm on the platform at least, right?"

"Right."

"So I had trouble choosing what to wear today. I didn't want to agonise over it so I just went ahead and came down. Aunt Pansy and Grandmother can help me later."

"We'll be glad to, darling," said Narcissa, joining them. Lucius seemed to be in a surly mood and only nodded at them all while Pansy's servants laid the table.

Patrick arrived with the baby, who dominated the meal with her babbling and antics. Lucius remained quiet, though. Brooding.

"Father, you don't have to come with us, you know," Draco blurted, no longer able to take in Lucius's moroseness. "Don't stare a hole into Pansy and Patrick's table."

To everyone's surprise and to Draco's consternation, his father laughed. "Son, if you want to brood yourself, we have plenty of time. Don't lash out at your old man because of envy."

"Mother, is he drunk?"

"None of your cheek, boy. You have as much reason to be told you don't have to come with us and if I stare a hole in Pansy and Patrick's table, I'll be merely building on what you have begun."

"Calliope, don't mind them. They're both being ridiculous idiots," came Narcissa's cutting remark, with enough venom and warning for both father and son to come to.

Lucius raised his brows and shrugged apologetically, first to his hosts and then to Callie. "Of course I have to come, Draco, Callie's my granddaughter."

"And she's my daughter."

"And our table has no holes whatsoever. Still solid narra, every inch of it. Not that you won't be welcome to drill some holes either," Patrick added gravely.

Pansy laughed. Thea giggled. Narcissa smiled. Callie grinned, albeit bewildered. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and scowled at his father, who only smirked at him.

* * *

Of course, Patrick was conveniently 'called off' on an urgent matter just as they were ready to climb into two cars. Pansy played her part of disgruntled wife well, and then they were off to take Callie to her 'boarding school', Patrick none the wiser to the Muggle-repelling charm he'd been subjected to for the day from Draco's car.

Draco drove in silence, his father beside him. In the back seat, Callie lounged between her grandmother and Pansy. All of them except Draco were wearing hats.

Lucius wore his dark fedora, the one he usually wore to golf with his two Muggle planter chums. Narcissa and Pansy both had on modestly-brimmed hats to match their trouser suits, navy and peach respectively.

Callie — well, his Callie looked adorable in her pink cloche. Draco kept looking at her from the rear view mirror. She looked like a baby again. She had donned it in jest to match her bunny slippers. But she also wore a pink blouse underneath her denim skirt and blazer.

He adored her but he was mainly glad her hair wasn't seen.

Even his mother had piled her hair under her hat. Lucius had tucked his under his jacket.

They'd be inconspicuous as could be.

Draco hoped.

At the same time, he promised himself he wouldn't look around for redheads. No, he wouldn't.

He pulled in at King's Cross with his heart acting like it wanted to part from his chest.

* * *

"I saw the funniest thing, Mum, there's one girl here in the platform wearing her bedroom slippers! At least _I'm_ wearing shoes, huh?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think I shoved them on your feet, too. It's a miracle we got here with minutes to spare."

The entire party rolled their eyes. Molly smiled.

"Hermione, dear, it's only ten-fifty and Lia's trunk is well-stashed in the train. We've made good time. Certainly the best time for me with you lot, in fact."

Instead of calming her down, Hermione's stomach plummeted at her honorary mother's words. She suddenly wanted to cry and bolt, dragging Thalia with her.

Ten-fifty. Gods, only ten minutes and her Thalia was leaving.

"Mum, I didn't get Erato for nothing, you know. You'll see her every day with letters from me, I promise."

A cloud of steam, this time more business-like than the others, billowed again from the Hogwarts Express. Hermione drew a deep breath, clinging to her resolve not to cry. She wouldn't succumb to ithat/i silliness.

All the same, her eyes smarted. She was glad for the smoke. It was an excuse for blinking.

As though the Grangers, Weasleys and Potters knew her dilemma, they drew off a bit, leaving her to her daughter.

"Alright, Thalia, I'll be looking forward to your daily notes. They don't have to be long, you know — just — I'll miss you so much. We've been such good friends, haven't we, love?"

Thalia nodded. "I'll miss you too, Mum."

They stood there for a moment, and then moved at the same time. Mother and daughter seeking and giving love in each other's arms.

"I won't bore you with rules and warnings," Hermione whispered into Thalia's hair. "I trust you, baby. You'll do all of us proud. You already do, actually. And for that, I packed you —"

"S'mores?"

Hermione laughed. "Yes."

"But I packed her some, too," said Harry.

"And we did, too," added Fred and George.

Hermione only pretended to groan. She basked in watching her daughter being doted on by the throng.

Ginny had Thalia in a death grip and looked like she wouldn't let go. Not that Hermione would mind much if Thalia missed the train...

As the whistled sounded, that stinging pain came to life again. She held Thalia to herself for the last time in many months and let go. Oh, gods, how that hurt. But she was confusing feelings and memories and meshing them into one jumble. She was also thrilled for her daughter.

"Owl me tonight. Your house."

"Slytherin," Fred said.

"Gryffindor, you git," Ron countered.

Thalia was laughing, hopping from one hug to the next. Hermione kept her eyes on Thalia's every movement. She wanted to sear each second of this event in her memory. But as Thalia jumped onto the train at last, a flash of light hair that wasn't Thalia's but very like Thalia's made her head turn.

But there was no one there, only lots of brown, black, gray and red heads, and hats. And a glimpse of a lovely crocheted cloche on a student also hopping onto the train. Hermione remembered she had made one for Thalia.

She turned back to her daughter. The Hogwarts Express began to inch away from the platform.

"Wow, it's moving!" Thalia shouted.

"Trains move, love."

There were melodramatic gasps beside and behind Hermione. She ignored them. Thalia was grinning gleefully. "I love you, Mum."

Hermione sighed. "I love you, Thalia."

* * *

"Merlin, they're so close, take a look, you imbecile!"

"I'm not an imbecile, Pansy, and if you're not one, why don't iyou/i look?" Draco gritted out through clenched teeth.

"No, thanks, I don't like looking, falling in love and not getting."

"Shut up, then."

Curse those Weasleys for their hair. It was all he could do not to snatch his father's or even his mother's hat and clap them on his cheeks just so he wouldn't have red in his vision. Literally and figuratively. He wouldn't be surprised if he went home blind. It was like denying his fingers to scratch an itch, what he was doing. He trained his eyes on his front even though they wanted to roam to the left. He just knew who was in the middle of the redheaded band.

Callie was likewise in their centre. By her own choice. She was embarrassed with her slippers and had them wall her in until the last minute when she had to board. He'd told her no one would see her feet on the train and by the time she boarded, she could change into her mary janes, which was in her trunk.

"What are you and Father whispering about, Aunt Pansy?"

"Nothing, Callie, Aunt Pansy's complaining about the crowd."

Callie ignored him. This slipper fiasco was his fault.

But the whistle sounded just then and suddenly, Callie was clinging to him.

"Bye, Daddy. Thank you for sending me to Hogwarts even though you didn't want to."

He was speechless. He just watched as his mother and then Pansy grabbed Callie in turn. His father went down on one knee and embraced Callie for about a minute.

"Make us even prouder of you, darling," Narcissa said tremulously.

"No, no, she doesn't have to do a thing," said Lucius, his jaws clenched. "Just be your pure, angelic self, Calliope."

"Daddy, say something."

They were all looking at him. Callie held his hand.

There was nothing else. "I love you, Calliope." He didn't bother going down on one knee, he just scooped his baby into his arms. "You'll be fine. And... I'm so sorry about the agreement, love. Can you forgive me?"

She nodded, kissed his cheek, and wriggled down. She bounded to the train as though afraid he'd carry her there. When she faced them again, she was grinning.

"What if I'm not in Slytherin?"

Draco mocked horror and turned to his father. "She'll still be my daughter then, won't she?"

Lucius snorted. "I think so."

"No problem, then, Callie."

"I love you, Daddy. Love you, Grandma, Grandfather, Aunt Pansy. I'll write soonest."

Draco nodded, putting his fist to his mouth. He Disapparated before he lost his dignity.

When he arrived back near Pansy's backyard, he leaned against the nearest tree and sighed, holding it in as long as he could without breathing out.

Merlin, he'd breathed the same air _she_ did in the last half hour.

* * *

**Author's Note: **The Ministry had cars. And I think the automobile was too major a breakthrough in the Muggle world to be dismissed by the Wizarding. If it was, why was Ron such a knowledgeable driver at twelve? And of course, can't see a Malfoy being beaten at something by a Weasley, right? I imagine Draco also had lessons with Wizarding cars.

As to Lucius, these chums he has are his neighbouring planters in Chablis. It's inevitable that they make acquaintances. Lucius has to kill time like any other. They golf. If you're a Malfoy connoisseur, it's not hard to imagine Lucius being subtle and all savoir faire at slowly absorbing Muggle jargon and tradition and sport. In my mind, he and Mssrs Carew and Murier are rather like Draco with Crabbe and Goyle, only more intelligent and with the egotistical jibes spewing from all sides. Lucius would like that. LOL.

Please review! :)


	7. So near yet so far

**So near yet so far

* * *

**

They were three window panes apart. Both took a deep breath as the Hogwarts Express rounded a corner and the platform with their parents on it disappeared in a cloud of steam. In perfect sync, both smiled, pushed off the window, looked up and down the corridor and then weaved through the tide of students still not ensconced in compartments to the end of the train, to the luggage cars.

Callie arrived first. She easily spotted her trunk. It was stacked between eight others. She pulled on her trunk's handle. It didn't even budge. She pulled again, only to frantically push _all_ the trunks back. The tower had threateningly leaned toward her.

Lia entered the car just then. Her eyes widened for a moment before she dashed to join Callie in righting the wall of trunks. When they felt safe again, they grinned at each other.

"You don't have your wand with you, too?" Lia asked.

Callie smacked a hand on her forehead.

"Oh, you do," Lia said gregariously. "Don't worry, it will take a while, I reckon. I mean, we've never held wands for long for the last decade, have we?"

Callie smiled and nodded, blushing. She took her wand from under her sleeve, from the wrist-holder her grandfather had given her, and with a muttered incantation and a flick, her trunk slid out from between the others and landed on the carriage floor with a soft thud.

"My wand's in my trunk — my mum thought it safer that way — not that I can pull that off, myself. The spells I know are mainly to do with melting marshmallows and turning crushed grahams into veritable weapons at the dinner table. Can you...?"

"Which one's yours?"

Lia pointed to the trunk on the very top of the column where Callie's had been.

_"Tirare trunk!"_

Lia's trunk landed right beside Callie's. The two girls both stepped backward and in matched movements like earlier pulled their trunks apart and horizontally, end to end. They then sat on their haunches before their trunks.

"Our initials are almost similar," Callie remarked.

"Are they?"

"T and C rhyme, and then our second name and surname initials are switched."

The trunks were engraved just under the latch in gold and script. Callie's with ibC.G.M/b/i; Lia's with ibT.M.G/b/i.

"I hate my second name," Lia said as she unlatched her trunk. The brass bar clanged and bounced thrice. "Well, not 'hate' it, per se. My mum will say 'hate' is a strong word. But better be passionate than bland, wouldn't you say? My Nana Helen says I'm just hyperbolic, just like my Poppy Logan. And speaking of Poppy Logan, my second name is the name of his mum. I love my great-nana, but her name's her name. It suits her, not me. My mum just had to have bad taste in names."

Callie had not moved all this time, politely listening and looking at the speaker, who, on the other hand, had retrieved half a dozen square pewter dishes with lids secured with Spellotape. At Lia's touch, the Spellotape easily peeled off, as if spelled to do so. Lia grinned. "They know I kick my trunk, see, so they took precautions. But they also know I can kick worse when kept too long from my s'mores."

Callie ogled curiously, remembered her manners, blushed again, and gently opened her own trunk. The latch made not one sound.

"What is your second name? Mine is just 'Grace'. My grandmother is always saying I'm their undeserved blessing and that I will bring honour to the family."

Lia's glance at the other girl's trunk became a stare. It was as if everything was kept in place with magic. The clothing was even in individual sleeves of tissue and the whole interior of the trunk was giving off a sweet scent, a fresh, tangy one, like some wildflower or fruit. Lia inhaled. 'Grace' grabbed a box and opened it to reveal black mary janes (also wrapped in tissue). It was polished, fine leather, not patent. Lia's face showed approval. 'Grace' looked at her with a shy grin and slipped into the shoes. The pink fluffy things she'd been wearing, she stuffed unceremoniously into a pocket in the trunk lid. Perhaps it's because 'Grace' was blushing again that Lia made no comment.

"'Grace' is nice. 'Maura' is—"

"Nice, too!"

"If you say so... It means 'persistent'. So Mum says it suits me more than I know, since I never back down on anything. When I was a baby, she says, I slept when I wanted to. No amount of feeding, rocking or singing can convince me otherwise."

"You must have been a trial."

"You talk almost like my Nana Helen. But yeah, you're right. My uncles used to have shifts watching me on those nights when I refused to sleep."

Callie closed her trunk with a smile, a somewhat sad, wistful smile.

"My dad says I was a right angel when I was a baby. It's only now that I've become...not so compliant. I was supposed to go to Beauxbatons, you know. I insisted on Hogwarts."

"Why in Merlin's name were you supposed to go to Beauxbatons?"

"We live in France."

"You're a Maura yourself!"

They smiled at each other. When Lia also closed her trunk and sat down on top of it, Indian-fashion, with the pewter things on her lap, Callie did the same, but she kept her feet on the floor, ankles crossed.

"May I know what those are?"

"Of _course_ you may." Lia smiled, her fond amusement of this prim and proper companion of hers apparent. "Are you a pureblood?"

Callie lost her smile and shook her head. "My mother's a Muggleborn. Why do you ask?"

"You just seemed like someone from a very fastidious pureblood family for a second there. I mean that as a compliment. You are what my Nana Helen would call 'well-bred'. She's given up on making me one. She says I have too much male influence to become a proper girl. I have seven uncles, you know. I'm thick as thieves with four of them. Oh, and my mum's a Muggleborn, too. Now, may I know if you have eaten s'mores before?"

Callie, who had obviously been wary at the talk of blood, almost sighed in relief and smiled. "Of course you may. I haven't. What are they?"

In response, Lia opened the largest dish. It must be the one our dear Hermione packed. Neatly partitioned and lined with pinked cookie paper. Lia tilted it for 'Grace' to see.

"But those are graham squares, aren't they? And peanut butter... marshmallows... chocolate slices."

_"Very good!"_ Lia said with theatrical approval.

Callie grinned.

"All these together make a s'more. They eat it during summer in America, in camping season. Poppy Logan and I eat it year-round. My mum still gives him the evil-eye sometimes for introducing it to me. It's his one indulgence. He'd been eating it even before he met Nana. Introduced to him by an American friend in university. He and my Nana Helen are both dentists — that's what they call Muggle Healers who take care and fix teeth — but nothing and no one can stop him making and eating s'mores."

Callie nodded away to this long discourse. Not just politely. She was intrigued.

"Now, I'll get to show you the spells I told you about. My Uncle Ron taught me. And then when Mum caught me making a fire in my rubbish bin, she taught me better."

Callie laughed, nodded again and stayed put although her survival instincts screamed for her to back away.

Lia took a graham and placed a thick chocolate slice on it. She then took another graham and plopped it on the peanut butter. With many flourishes and turns, she separated graham and peanut butter and carefully laid the smothered graham beside the one with the chocolate slice. At last, she took her wand after licking the fingertips of her right hand. With her left, she took a marshmallow.

"Great, I forgot the sticks for the mallows, they're under my backside right now... _I know!_ You can levitate it! Can you?"

"I can try. I've read about the incantation and theory in our book." She pointed her wand at the marshmallow on 'Maura's palm. i"Wingardium Leviosa!"/i

After dancing on Lia's hand for several seconds, the marshmallow did float onto thin air and stay there.

"Brilliant!" said Lia. "Now, I just need to you to hold on for a second." She pointed her own wand at the marshmallow. She grinned at 'Grace', who had slight trepidation on her face. "Don't worry; I have this spell down-pat. I've done it since I was eight! Only on marshmallows, mind. iFlamare!/i"

The white marshmallow was instantly engulfed in a ball of blue flame.

"Now we count to six. It takes thirty seconds in a real hearth or camp fire, but Mum's bluebell is hotter," said Lia. "How long did I talk? One, two—"

_"What are you playing at?"_

Callie and Lia jumped. The flame-ball that was the marshmallow plopped onto the carriage floor and hissed for a second before a small pile of sand covered it, coming from a wandtip. Our two girls followed the wandtip to the hand holding it and discovered a tall girl with black hair and blue eyes. They looked from her to the 'anthill' and back.

"What were you two doing?" the girl asked. The crest on the left breast of her robes showed she was a Slytherin. She walked over to Lia, looked at the pewter dishes and at the graham with the chocolate slice and the one with the peanut butter. She apparently didn't understand s'mores either because she only shook her head in bewilderment and then in indignation.

"First, you're not supposed to be here. You're supposed to be in a compartment, with your fellow students, not your trunks. Second, I will let you go, but I will separate you, just in case you team up again and set bigger things on fire."

Callie and Lia exchanged looks.

"Come along, you had better follow me before I lose my lenient mood and give you detention before we're even at the school."

Callie and Lia exchanged looks again. Earlier, they'd been cowed. Now, they were outraged.

"First, we were just about to go look for a compartment. Grace just changed into her shoes and I got my s'mores."

"Second, we weren't setting anything on fire; Maura was just melting a marshmallow, showing me how to make a — er, sweet."

The tall girl had been peering into compartment windows. She came to a stop and gave a smile to Callie and Lia.

_"First_, thank you for your imitation and your explanations. Your charmwork is quite impressive for first years. Just please wait until you get to class before you demonstrate your skills again. Second, I'm Priscilla August, Head Girl, so you will do as I say. Which one's Maura?"

Lia raised her hand.

"Nice to meet you, dear. You go here." Priscilla slid the compartment door open and gently but firmly shoved Lia inside. "You can meet up with your sister again later." With that and without waiting for Lia to answer, Priscilla shut the door again.

"We're not sisters."

"Oh, you're not? I'm sorry, Grace. Here you go." Priscilla opened the fourth compartment door from Lia's.

"Please don't dare push me. I'll go by myself." It was said quietly, almost humbly, but something in Callie's eyes made the older girl submit and leave.

When Priscilla went back to the prefects' carriage, the Head Boy, Quillian Ellington-Shaw, stood up and offered her a cauldron cake.

"Where had you got to? I thought I'd wait for you and see if you have anything more to say about the meeting before I go join my mates," he said.

"I caught two first year girls playing with this cute little blue fireball in the luggage car."

"Did you report them?"

"No. I didn't even take their names. Actually, I believed their story that they were only melting a marshmallow. I startled them when I walked in. The flaming marshmallow fell and I poured sand over it. I feel quite bad about it." Priscilla punctuated this with a laugh.

"What's so funny?" Quillian asked.

"Oh, nothing. It's just, they defended each other and themselves when I first arrived, but by the time I'd told them who I am and separated them, they'd denied they were sisters. Funny how the threat of detention works, isn't it?"

"They were sisters?"

"Anyone would have seen that."

* * *

_Mum,_

_I know you will calculate I'm still on the train. The sun is setting and we're only some miles from Hogsmeade. I know because I'm sitting with a bunch of third years and they're all excited about the trip to the village. Two of them are purebloods, but they haven't ever been there without their families before. Me, too. But what I'm thinking about is the Sorting. Yes, I'm being my vixen self, sending you this letter so that I'll have the excuse of not having Erato with me right after I'm given my House. I'm ducking and grinning right now._

_There is one other first year here in our compartment, and she's the one who lent me this little writing table thing that goes on your lap. Her name's Dionelise Ellington-Shaw. She's here because she's shy. Her brother is one of the third years here, Maximillian. They have another brother, who is Head Boy, Quillian. Maximillian and Quillian are both Gryffindors. Nelly (apparently, Dionelise's like Elizabeth Grayson, Mum, she has a name for each of her moods. She's 'Nelly' when she's nervous. When I first came in, she was so happy and introduced herself as 'Lissy') said she hopes she isn't separated from her brothers. I told her if she's placed in Slytherin, I'll be her bodyguard. She laughed. She's really pretty, Mum. She has red hair — not like Aunt Ginny's. Lissy's is sort of like very dark wine, it looks almost purple in some lights. And her eyes are pale blue. I want to paint her._

_But I met a prettier girl earlier. You know, that one wearing her bedroom slippers I told you about at the platform? I met her in the luggage car. She was about to be buried under the trunks but we both righted the tower of them, don't worry. And then she pulled out her wand and did this neat spell you haven't taught me yet and pulled out her trunk and mine from the pile. She changed into her shoes and I dug for my s'mores._

_We talked a bit. She was nice and 'well-bred', like Nana Helen would say. Even sitting on our trunks, her back was straight, Mum, and she crossed her ankles very daintily. I don't think I've ever used that word before. Dainty. She was dainty. She had brown hair, exactly the same shade as yours, Mum, only not so thick, and beautiful grey eyes._

_Her second name's Grace. I don't know her first name or surname! And neither have I told her mine. Just my second name. We were really preoccupied talking about other things, I reckon. And making s'mores. Not that we made even uone/u, mind. The Head Girl just has to walk in on us just as we were flambéing the marshmallow of the first s'more. Of course, we dropped the flambé on the floor (in case you're wondering, Grace was levitating the marshmallow. I forgot to get the sticks from my trunk. That's safer and cooler, isn't it, levitating the marshmallow? Why didn't I think of that before?) and then the Rotten Timing Head Girl buried it in sand. And then she hauled us away and plunked me in here like some naughty kitten. I think Grace is some doors down. We didn't get into trouble, R.T Head Girl was in a lenient mood, she says, and she just separated us. I thought about going to Grace, but I remembered you, so here I am in my assigned compartment like a good girl._

_I'll write again soon. Go to bed happy, Mum._

_Lia_

_PS: Why are there Howlers but no 'Huggers'?_

* * *

_Father,_

_How have you been since we last held each other? I'm very well, and happy. I'm sitting with another first year; we have the compartment all to ourselves. Before you ask with ridiculous and unbecoming paranoia, she's a girl. Her name's Ronquilla Feliciano. Only, she hates her name, and she only told me about it a second ago when she decided she really likes me. She asked me to call her Kia. She has five other names, too, but she likes none of them. She's an only child in both her mother's and father's families. I think that's the reason she got piled with names._

_I'm glad you didn't pile ume/u with names, Daddy. Calliope Grace is enough and I love it, too. Have I ever told you that? Tell Grandmother. Or... dare I hope it — Was it my mother who named me? Of course, I can never tell I'm the only child in both my mother's and father's families, either... Don't make a sad face, Daddy, I'm ducking and grinning right now._

_Britain is beautiful. I've been dying to blurt this since that book signing. That summer, it was dog-hot. But I didn't complain. Now it's a little too cloudy than I'm used to. But I'm not complaining either. I feel like I'm home, even though you're not beside me. Is that odd or not? I'm glad to say I was born in this country. And I'm so giddy I'm going to Hogwarts, where you and Mum studied. Will I be sleeping in your bed, Daddy? Will I maybe find Mum's special table in the library?_

_I had a little incident awhile ago. Don't worry, I'm alright, and I haven't been given detention. We were only wrongly accused of starting a fire. Before you lose your dignity, Father, and before you cry, Grandmother: in actuality, we were only melting a marshmallow — remember that soft, sweet Muggle candy M. Murier gums on sometimes, Grandfather?_

_Before I met Kia, I met Maura first. She found me in the luggage car and rescued me from murderous trunks. Again, don't worry, I'm alright. I just momentarily forgot my wand, Father, and pulled at my trunk in the pile. Maura helped me steady the trunks and then reminded me of my magic. I pulled out my trunk and hers with my wand. I changed into my shoes. She took out sweets._

_We talked. Daddy, I wish all the girls I meet will be like her. Kia is nice, too, thankfully. Maura made me laugh. She's very light-hearted. Frank, too, she doesn't mince words. But she isn't rude. I can tell she was a little amused by my manners. She said nothing of it, except ask if I'm a pureblood. I told her my mother is a Muggleborn. She asked because she says I seem like a very well-bred girl, someone the fastidious purebloods will have taken pains raising. And you did take pains, right? Isn't she nice, Father? Her mum's a Muggleborn, too. Maura has seven uncles! Maybe that's why she's quite boyish in her ways and she's also quite close to her 'Poppy Logan' (Grandfather, would you hate me very much if I start calling you Poppy Lucius?)._

_Kia is a stunning brunette, but Maura is a smiting blonde. She has such sweet brown eyes._

_Maura isn't even her first name. It's her second name! Likewise, she knows me as 'Grace'. We forgot to exchange names. We were too entertained with talking and melting that marshmallow. I forgot the name of the confection she was about to create. It involved grahams, chocolate, peanut butter and the marshmallow, which she melted with a very clever flame spell. Before we could finish, however, Miss August, the Head Girl, arrived. She wasn't really hard on us, and I think she did believe that we were only melting a candy. She just separated us. She put Maura in one compartment and me in here with Kia. I wanted to get Maura to join us, you know, but I remember Grandfather's face. Even though he will deny it vehemently, I know he wants me to do perfectly in school. And by perfectly I mean, pristinely, with no blots whatsoever both in my academic and conduct records._

_Daddy, tell Grandfather he must stop being hard on himself. He had done right by me. You and Grandmother, too. I promise I will be your pride and joy._

_Give everyone my love. I'll write again soon. To Aunt Pansy, too._

_Calliope_

* * *

Two owls, one tawny and one black, burst out of the Hogwarts Express, inclined their heads to each other as if in recognition, and then flew off in opposite directions.

* * *

The din was loud and boisterous as usual as the scarlet train pulled to a stop at Hogsmeade Station. Callie was craning her head, looking for a blonde mane. She saw many, but not the one she was looking for. At the other end of the crowd, Lia had even taken to shoving and parting bodies as if they were reeds in search for an elusive brunette.

Before long, Hagrid was there, bellowing for his i'firs' years'/i. Callie and Lia both abandoned their search and allowed themselves to be buffeted to a boat.

After what seemed like an epoch, there it was, Hogwarts Castle.

And then, there it was, the Sorting Hat.

It sang a song Callie and Lia would both dutifully relay later to their respective parents, but just then, they heard nothing save a faint buzz in their ears and the thud of their hearts. Professor Flitwick began to call names. They passed on unheard beneath the buzz and the thud except when the names meant something to either Callie or Lia...

_"Ellington-Shaw, Dionelise!"_

"SLYTHERIN!"

Dionelise looked like she would burst into tears. The brothers Ellington-Shaw rose to their feet ready to rush to their sister. After almost a minute of tense silence in which Dionelise remained frozen on the stool, her face red and her eyes glistening, she stood up and went to the cheering green-and-silver table. Eyes followed her. But she didn't faint on the bench. On the contrary, she accepted and returned handshakes. And then, to the astonishment of the Hall, she turned and smirked at her brothers...

_"Feliciano, Ronquilla!_"

Wincing, Kia went to the stool, sat down and put on the Hat.

"GRYFFINDOR! And you lot are to call her _Kia!_"

There was laughter. "My apologies, Miss Feliciano," Professor Flitwick chuckled.

_"Granger, Thalia!"_

The teachers and students noted the name. It was a name of note. Eyes expecting a brunette saw a blonde.

In the throng of first years, Callie, smiling, murmured to herself, "So that's her name."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Dionelise hugged Lia. Priscilla August leaned over, smiling. "Maura is a second name, perhaps? Are you related to Hermione Granger?"

Lia had expected this. "And if I am? You won't cast me under my mother's shadow, will you?" she said affably, and then turned back to the Sorting. Grace was still there.

_"Malfoy, Calliope!"_

Again, the teachers and students noted the name. It was a name of note. Eyes expecting a blonde saw a brunette.

In the table of Slytherins, Lia, gaping, murmured to herself, "So we _are_ sisters."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Kia hugged Callie. Quillian Ellington-Shaw leaned over, smiling. "Are you related to the Wiltshire Malfoys?"

Callie had expected this. She was thankful Quillian did not sound even remotely hostile. Neither did any of the others on the table. She gave them her seraphic smile, the one that bends even her grandfather to her will. "And if I am? You won't cast me under my father's or grandfather's shadow, will you?"

* * *

**Author's Note**: I sandwiched the letters in omniscient POV. I thought it's more effective and easier than narrating this chapter in alternate POV's. Do you or do you not agree?

Elizabeth Grayson is an eight-year old fanciful, lovely girl in Anne of Windy Poplars. 'Ronquilla' I twisted from my favourite cousin-in-law's (my fave cousin's husband) name, Ronquillo. We call him 'Rocky'. LOL.

For some reason, I thought the s'more is British. I'm glad I did my research as always. A s'more is a graham sandwich of chocolate and marshmallow. Peanut butter is optional (as well as caramel or whipped cream or jam... the possibilities are endless!). The marshmallow is melted (according to preference: Some like it roasted black, some like it only just softened) and this melts the chocolate in turn. Are you salivating? Me, too.

For the purposes of my story, I have a luggage car here. Thank ye.

'Tirare' is Italian for 'pull'.


	8. Omissions

**Omissions

* * *

**

_Oh, Thalia,_

_You don't know how much I appreciated it when I saw Athena winging to our house. Forgive your mother for being melodramatic, darling, but I missed you so much. We've never been apart like this before._

_I sent her back immediately because look at the size of this letter. I thought I'd just answer your train and House letter in one._

_Slytherin. I can't say I didn't see this coming. I don't really care about that, love. Well, I do, yes, but only because I — never mind, I know you'll be — are— wise enough to discern who's a treasure and who's not._

_And it's normal to not hear everything during the Sorting. I remember being in a daze myself though I idid/i drink everything in, and that included my fellow students' names. I'm sure you will meet Grace again just as I'm sure she won't be offended if you confess you missed her name._

_Yes, my hair colour is quite common and grey eyes are not rare. Why did you say that? I hope you still like her. She sounds like a lovely girl. Do look her up again, won't you? Goodness knows you can do with a well-bred friend! But I love you the way you are just the same. I'm so happy you've found friends quickly. This Dionelise sounds very interesting as well. I can't wait for the holidays so you can have your friends visit. Honey, I know how much you longed for a friend your age, you know. I'm sorry I rather kept you to myself. Aside from your magic being unstable for Muggle school, I just really liked having you close. My darling vixen._

_I'm in your room right now. I think I'll be sleeping here until I get over my empty nest. No one raids the fridge any more and I don't hear drawers containing secret hordes of sweets rasping... It's rather lonely. So write often, okay, Thalia?_

_Your uncles and Aunt Ginny only left me after we got your House announcement. Do write your Aunt Ginny. She's in a bad way and your Uncle Harry is to be pitied. She actually threw my otter paperweight at him. I don't know why. I only know that Uncle Harry might have a hard time writing, because a bump that size must hurt terrible._

_Now, you didn't forget anything? I can't believe you have six jumpers left here. And you didn't pack your galoshes either._

_Always go to bed early so you'll be alert in classes. If you can, do share with me your class schedule, so I'll know where you are every hour. Visit Hagrid. And remember what we discussed about the out-of-order toilets and Peeves._

_Oh, yes, good job on obeying your Head Girl. Keep on like that._

_All my love,_

_Mum_

_PS: Forgive my rambling, Thalia. And no, you don't have to send me your class schedule! Your mum doesn't deal well with separation from her darling vixen, does she? If I can turn this into a Hugger, you'll be spending your schooldays attached to a letter._

* * *

_Callie,_

_For Merlin's sake, this is the first letter I'll send you, isn't it? We've never been apart like this to necessitate post. I'd prefer Flooing, but that's not allowed. So excuse my terse greeting. You know it's accompanied by a hug and kiss._

_Your father is poorly. But I'll get by. As long as you're such a sweet angel. So that means I'll get by forever._

_I sympathise with Ronquilla. That's an ugly name. Gryffindor, on the other hand, is atrocious._

_No, I'm only kidding, of course._

_I'm rather glad you're in Gryffindor. I think you'll be less susceptible to the effects of our name's infamy there, actually. Remember what we talked about? Hold you head high, love. But not too high._

_Your mother named you Calliope. Your grandmother named you Grace. We have enough Latin and ancestral names to fill a book but none of them seemed to fit you. Your grandfather did think it rather plebeian. He calls you 'sweet pea', so why not avenge yourself and go ahead and call him 'Poppy'?_

_As for your being an only child in your families, you might not be, yes. But don't concern your pretty head about it._

_This Thalia Maura Granger you speak of, I like her. Though I'm very partial to your caramel hair, I like blondes, you know. No wonder she's in Slytherin. Maybe her frankness can rub on you and help you handle boys. You're too polite to them, you know. You mustn't encourage them like that. You should just tell them to bugger off right out. Yes, that's not gracious, but better to be ungracious than-- Some people need to be repelled, that's all. And that includes boys._

_I'm so glad of your two letters so far. They distract me from your grandparents. They're the ones who held me back from replying to your first post. Mercury didn't vent his fury on you, did he? Your grandparents positively flung him back into flight so you can have him to tell us your House. They're insane. They're driving me halfway to insanity as well. Now, this is no way to speak about them, I know, but just between you and me — and it's not as if you don't ridicule me behind my back with your grandfather either._

_They're going back to France tonight. Aunt Pansy and I spent yesterday shopping, and we've been successful. Guess what, Callie? We found a nice little cottage in Hogsmeade! It will cost a fortune, but I want to be near you. I'll be in Floo with your grandfather about the vineyard everyday, that's all. And maybe one day, I can visit and see you and your friend Thalia, eh? And yeah, Kia, too._

_Your grandparents will surely send you their love on their own. Prepare for interesting cookies from Aunt Pansy. Don't give them to Mercury. You don't want to poison your owl._

_Love,_

_Father_

* * *

Both their bent heads looked up smiling from their respective letters, at their respective tables. Callie's face was a little pinched, as if she was fighting not to cry or not to laugh. Lia's was determined, almost fierce.

* * *

**A/N:** This is my shortest work-in-progress chapter, ever. But I can't help it; this just begs to be posted on its own. Spotlight on the implications. Hee. Pause before clicking on NEXT. :)) Please review! Thank you!


	9. Friction

**Friction

* * *

**

"Morgana's bandeau, Draco!"

Pansy clutched the railing and bent double to catch her breath after her scream. Draco laughed manically, having scared the woman out of her wits by Apparating right in the middle of the stairs. He grabbed her around the waist and spun her, making her shriek again. For once, Draco didn't mind his friend's loudness.

"Put me down!" Draco obeyed, chuckling. "Are you possessed?" But Pansy was smiling now. "What is it? Callie's in Slytherin?"

Last night, Patrick had brought his partners to dinner so Pansy hadn't been able to wait with the Malfoys for Callie's news.

"No, my Calliope's in Gryffindor. Remember that cottage you were planning to turn into a boutique in Hogsmeade? I want it. I'll live there. I'm not going back to Chablis. I want that cottage in my name by tomorrow. Today. Right now. Name your price."

Pansy clutched at the banister again. "If you don't become coherent, I'll smack you, Draco. Alright, Calliope's in Gryffindor. I can't say I'm surprised. She's more like her mother. But what about my cottage? I didn't even think you heard me when I told you about it last year. It won't suit you. Too small. There's no foyer to speak of. It has only one full bath—"

Draco grabbed her again, this time by the shoulders. i"I want it, woman./i I'll pay you quadruple its worth. Just let me have it."

"Fine! But why?"

Draco laughed again. He had to laugh. Or else he might have to ijig/i. "Oh, nothing. I just want to be near my daughters." He gave Pansy the parchment still clutched in his hand. She gasped and smiled as her eyes travelled down Callie's letter.

"Thalia Maura," Pansy mouthed it first, and then murmured it. "You can't fault her taste, can you? _At least in names."_

"What do you mean by that?" Draco growled mockingly.

"Oh, nothing." Grinning and after a small shriek when Draco pretended to snarl at her, Pansy went to her morning communion with her orchids.

Draco let his knees fold and sat on the stairs, still winded with the thrill of his two daughters reunited and getting on capitally. Merlin. He had never been this giddy since... since twelve years ago.

"But Draco, you can't."

He jumped. Pansy had come back, pulling on her gardening gloves.

"You had this agreement, didn't you? That you'd stay away? What if she finds out you're back in England?"

Draco smiled. "Actually, I'm waiting for that to happen."

"That she finds out you're here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I'm ashamed of you, Pansy. If I'm in England, who else might be in England with me?"

"Oh."

"Yes. Oh, indeed. If I want to be near Thalia, think how much more she will want to be near Callie, too. She's the mother — What are you smirking like that for?"

"I'm ashamed of you, Draco." Without elaborating, Pansy left with her gloves and smirk.

* * *

Lia overturned her mother's letter beside her plate of unsalted eggs smothered in syrup.

_We have too few classes to suit me,_ she wrote._ I asked Professor McGonagall about it when she handed out the schedules (she still does that, and now that she's Headmistress, she goes to give schedules to the rest of the Houses, too). She told me not to be impertinent and added I'll be complaining soon enough about too much homework and will be blind to my extra half-day. And you did tell me we won't get four periods in one day 'til fourth year._

_Don't worry about that girl I mentioned to you. I suppose she was pushed from my mind by my fabulous house mates. Slytherin has been wrongly judged! They're not nasty at all. They're all rather disbelieving that I'm your daughter. They asked why I'm not using my father's name, and then Dionelise said, "Why would she? Her mother's name is the one with clout." And just like that, no one else asked questions and they all rather sneered, though approvingly. I imagine not _all_ of them are happy with me, of course, but these people kept quiet and away._

_Here, I'm giving you my schedule!_

Lia leaned back and perused her letter with exaggerated scrutiny. She nodded. Smooth. Casual. It would do. It wouldn't arouse suspicion, and would keep her mum off the scent of Calliope Grace Malfoy. Lia was determined that Hermione wouldn't know. No need to hurt her mum all over again with her father's infidelity.

She glanced at her sister on the Gryffindor table, eating so daintily, cutting up apples and cheese then forking them to her mouth. Who would have guessed such daintiness was the product of sin? But Lia wouldn't blame her. They were both innocents.

Lia looked away when looking began to feel like longing.

She turned her eyes instead on Priscilla, who was also eating syrup, though with pancakes. Lia grinned. She and the Head Girl were kindred spirits.

"Um, Miss August, would you mind copying my schedule here on this letter?"

"Not at all," the Head girl replied, and with a swish of her wand, the schedule was reproduced.

_House of Slytherin_

_First Years_

_Charms ~ Professor F. Flitwick_

_Herbology ~ Professor P. Sprout_

_Transfiguration ~ Professor A. Morfosa_

_Potions ~ Professor J. Demouit_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts ~ Professor H. Jones_

_History of Magic ~ Professor R. Binns_

_Astronomy ~ Professor A. Sinistra/center_

**_Mondays_**

_9:00 am – 10:00 am ~ Transfiguration_

_Break_

_10:20 am – 11:20 am ~ Defence Against the Dark Arts (unitas House of Hufflepuff) _

_11: 25 am – 12: 25 pm ~ Herbology__ (unitas House of Ravenclaw)_

**_Tuesdays_**

_9:00__ am – 10:00 am ~ Charms (unitas House of Gryffindor)_

_Break_

_10:20 am – 11: 20 am ~ History of Magic_

_11: 25 – 12: 25 ~ Potions (unitas House of Gryffindor)_

**_Wednesdays_**

_9:00 am – 10:00 am ~ Herbology (unitas House of Ravenclaw)_

_Break_

_10:20 am – 12: 20 p__m ~ (Double) Transfiguration_

_12:00 am – 12:45 am ~ Astronomy_

**_Thursdays_**

_9:00 am – 10:00 am ~ Defence Against the Dark Arts (unitas House of Hufflepuff)_

_Break_

_10:20 am – 12: 20 pm ~ (Double) Charms (unitas House of Gryffindor)_

**_Fridays_**

_9:00 am – 10:00 am ~ Herbology (unitas House of Ravenclaw)_

_Break_

_10:20 am – 12: 20 pm ~ (Double) Potions__ (unitas House of Gryffindor)_

"Thanks, Miss August."

"No problem. And you can call me Priscilla, girls. See you."

"Aren't we going yet?" asked Dionelise, who was covertly shooting her brothers with corn kernels out of a very tiny, very accurate catapult.

"It's only a quarter past eight. Let me finish this letter to my mu—"

_"OW!"_

Lia looked up to see several Gryffindors converging on one of their number. After craning her neck, Lia saw the girl in trouble and recognised her as Ronquilla Feliciano, the one for whom the Hat shouted that everyone call her 'Kia'. She was holding her ear.

"What happened to her?"

"I didn't mean to! I was aiming for Maxim but that prefect beside him suddenly stood up and I was so startled I jolted my toy," Dionelise hissed, aghast.

Just then, the Gryffindors scattered. Kia marched over to the Slytherins, and sure enough, a corn kernel was still conspicuously lodged in her right ear, which was flaming red. Lia winced and at the same time bit her cheeks and took a deep breath to tamper her threatening laughter.

"Got tired of shooting at your brothers?" Kia growled.

"You saw me?" Dionelise squeaked.

"Yes, I saw you —"

"I'm sorry, it was an —"

"—but I didn't think you'd dare shoot at me! What've I done to you, you wicked hag?"

"She said she was sorry. It was an accident. Now iyou/i say sorry for using names." Lia had stood up and only realised she'd talked after she'd heard herself. Kia turned blazing eyes on her.

"Don't tell me what to do, missy, just go finish your disgusting slop."

Lia blinked. "How dare you!"

"That's enough, now," said Quillian, coming over and glaring at Dionelise.

"Aren't you going to take points from your sister?" Kia demanded, also glaring.

Quillian glared back. "Well, you did call her a hag, and raised a ruckus besides. The teachers are staring. So if you don't want me to take points off Gryffindor as well, let's just call it even, shall we? You both don't want to lose points this fast, and both of you green first years unlikely to earn any points back as quickly. Are we satisfied?"

"She insulted my food," Lia said through clenched teeth.

Quillian glanced at Lia's plate and raised his eyebrows. "Er, yeah, I meant that in context in the 'raising a ruckus' part. Now, Ellie, we respect you so. No more corn shooting, alright? Good luck with class, ickle Ellie-jellybeans."

Lia forgot her annoyance then. She restrained Dionelise while Quillian dashed away, laughing. By some impulse, her eyes went to Callie.

Callie was the only one in her house table who wasn't laughing. She hadn't risen though both legs were outside the bench. She caught Lia's eyes and half-grimaced, half-smiled in an expression conveying sympathy, apology and torn amusement.

Lia forgot again. She affably returned the face scrunch despite resolutions of letting this girl know someone had been hurt when she was conceived.

* * *

"Ellie-jellybeans, indeed. Poor girl. No wonder she shoots them." Kia was giggling as they lined up outside Transfiguration.

Callie shook her head, still grimacing at the narrowly averted disaster during their very first morning at Hogwarts. "You were quite horrible. Why did you fly at her like that? And at Maura, too. That was out of line."

"I'm sorry, of course, but I can't help it, you know, I have Mexican iand/i Irish blood in me. And it did hurt." Kia rubbed her ear. "Who's Maura?"

"Oh, Thalia Granger. The friend of Ellie-jel— I mean, the Shaw girl. Maura is Thalia Granger's second name. We met in the train, remember? We exchanged second names."

"Thalia Maura? My uncle names his mares in such fashion."

Callie would have balked at that, but she saw that Kia meant it as a compliment, since Kia wore a look of familial pride, probably for her uncle's elegant taste in naming his horses. But one of their classmates had heard, and giggled it to her seatmate, and Callie could only be appalled during lunch, by which time it was circulating that the Feliciano girl thought Granger was named like a filly.

It didn't help that as she was getting up from the Gryffindor table, Thalia Granger said in a carrying voice, "Sour grapes, and I don't wonder at it. If your name sounds like it was inspired by a moose's cry, naturally you'll begrudge other people's sweeter appellations."

The murderous look in Kia's face upon hearing that made Callie shrink from the thought of the next day. They'd be having Charms and Potions with Slytherins.

She dragged Kia away to their tower.

The Fat Lady seemed sober now. Last night she had been too tipsy it took several bellows from Evan Jacob, their prefect, to rouse her and open for them. She greeted them now with a smile, but they doubted her clarity of mind when, after they said 'monkey poop', she replied, "Your hair is lovely today, Miss Granger."

"How could she call us 'Miss Granger'? That drunken biddy. Besides iMiss Granger's/i hair is thatch," muttered Kia indignantly as they sat down in the common room.

Callie shrugged and swallowed her defence of Maura's hair, which was nowhere near straw. "Never mind that, we have homework and I want to write to my father."

"You seem fond of each other. You wrote him again before we went to bed last night, and I saw that rather long letter you received at breakfast."

"We're best friends," Callie said, smiling. "He's coming to live in Hogsmeade."

"That's nice. He'll be able to join us in the Fair."

"What Fair?"

"Don't you know? Oh, right, you lived in France. Well, there's a Fair everywhere in Britain in the Second of May, commemorating the Battle of Hogwarts. Of course, the biggest one is here at school. It's what I've always wanted to go to Hogwarts for. More than the lessons. There are supposed to be all sorts of booths where you can win prizes, Keeper and Chaser demi-games, flying carpets, and all the Hogsmeade shops bring things to give away. All the villagers come. Parents, too."

* * *

"That sounds lovely. I've never been to any fairs before. Usually, we just celebrate May Second together with the family. And then it also became Tori's birthday," said Thalia to Dionelise, for these two were talking about the very same thing in the Slytherin common room, though they did not abuse Kia. Dionelise felt so guilty triggering the war.

"Oh, yeah, your folks probably stay away. I would, too, since you'll probably be crushed by crowds," Dionelise said with a wince. "I don't like crowds."

* * *

"Yeah, and Dad likes his privacy, he says. Besides we no longer have property here. The ancestral home was surrendered to the Ministry, along with our vaults. And he and my grandfather both warned me about our name being mud here still."

"No, it's not. Not really. It's just rather... notorious."

* * *

"What's it like, being the daughter of such a famous witch?"

"I won't know, Liz. I've always been her daughter. I haven't had any other mother. I won't know a difference. We're probably just like you and your mum."

* * *

"That's nice. You really don't seem like a Malfoy. You have no... self-importance at all."

"Self-importance? I'm just a little witch, Kia."

* * *

They had to summarise the theories of the basic switching spells for Transfiguration. Other than this, Callie was free to devote her time to writing four epistles. As she told her father about class and the teachers (Professor Annetta Morfosa was an Entometamorphmagus: she could change into the form of any insect at will), her mind wandered to Maura— no, Thalia. Seven uncles. Nana Helen. Poppy Logan. Did she write to all of them individually?

The fire mellowed in the common room; Callie brightened her lamp. Maximillian Ellington-Shaw pretended to peep at her letters. Kia shooed him away, yawning. The girl had a devil's temper, but she was sweet and kind enough still. Smiling, Callie gathered her letters and took Kia's arm in hers, and together, they went up to their dormitory.

They had only two other fellow Gryffindor first year girls, the same ones responsible for the spread and tainting of Kia's innocent words regarding Thalia's name. iTheir/i names were Jesusa Kilman and Jessica Lovett. Both were already asleep.

Kia mimed slamming their heads together and wringing their necks. Callie grinned. They quietly changed into their nightclothes.

"G'night, Callie," Kia muttered, dropping into bed and promptly falling asleep on top of her blankets. At first, Callie stared. But when it was apparent Kia was not faking, Callie drew the curtains around the girl herself.

Afterward, she cuddled into her own bed. Hers was set where the wall of the tower curved. The night before, she had checked this wall for dampness, and, drawing the thick velvet bed drapes, she had discovered a natural recess in the stones, a slit as if for a single giant spell book to be stowed in. Callie had peered at this alcove with wandlight, and saw it was clean and as polished as the rest of the wall. She had already inserted iPride and Prejudice, Hogwarts, A History/i and iLittle Women/i in it. The little shelf was just the right height that she could easily reach into it even lying down in bed.

She drew up her legs and tapped Londonderry Air on her knees. There was something comforting in the darkness inside her four-poster. It smelled faintly of... ink. An odd scent. But she liked it.

If she had been Sorted into Slytherin, she would have traded for her father's four-poster if it had not been assigned to her already. Her dad said the bed had belonged to Malfoys for generations, with the family crest crudely scratched in the upper right corner post by some tasteless ancestor. Callie had laughed at that.

She felt a tiny sense of loss not sleeping on 'the Malfoy bed', but it was tiny. She was very content in her essence-of-ink four-poster.

* * *

"My mum threw ink all over her four-poster in her third year. This was when she was quarrelling with Uncle Ron. She was crying while trying to finish her homework. She upset her ink bottle because her hand was shaking. She was so mad at the ink bottle she just pounded it onto her pillow like it was Uncle Ron's head." Lia laughed, and so did Dionelise.

They were sitting on the floor between their beds, sorting through Bertie Bott's beans spread in a platter between them. Lia wore her favourite night-shirt, a worn Cannons robe which used to belong to her Uncle Ron. Dionelise was in a sheer white gown frilled and ruffled where frills and ruffles could be placed.

"What were they quarrelling about?"

"Oh, Mum's cat and Uncle Ron's rat. She must have been really upset," Lia continued, "because the ink didn't run out as long as she was pounding. Ink splattered everywhere. It was lucky her curtains were drawn or she would have blackened her whole dormitory. The elves cleaned it up, of course, but the smell didn't entirely go away. It was still there even in her last year at Hogwarts, and Mum said her bed was also beside the curve of the tower wall, and the wall had this odd gap between the stones, which she used to store books, notes or quills in. If I was sorted into Gryffindor, I was to sniff around for this ink-smelling bed and try to have it. I'd have loved it, but here we are, and my bed doesn't have any scent to speak of, just an odd chicken scratch in this post, look."

They got to their feet and Dionelise looked. "It looks like an 'M'."

"It looks like a snake with corners. See, these must be eyes." Lia pointed at two dots in the carving. They giggled again.

Lia quieted abruptly. An 'M', a snake, in Slytherin. What were the possibilities? But then her father would surely have better taste than this.

They were the only Slytherin first year girls so there were three other beds in their dormitory. These hadn't been seen to and prepared by the house elves with warming pans, but if she wanted, Lia could easily move to one of them. She didn't want to though.

The chicken scratch was somehow 'dear' to her, the way her old clay balls were 'dears' and not to be thrown away yet.

* * *

"We're planning to move to Tonga and raise Blubbering Humdingers there."

"That's nice, Ginny."

"They're saying in the Auror office that Fred and George are being considered for Headship."

"You deserve that, Harry."

"And do you deserve to drink sugar?"

Hermione coughed as if on cue, having just brought the sugar bowl instead of her tea cup to her lips and gulped. Harry, Ginny and Ron exchanged looks.

They were in The Leaky Cauldron for their Tuesday morning tea. Usually, Arthur, the twins and even Percy joined them, but today all four were late, so those present were free to scrutinise their Hermione, who had been stirring her sugar and scanning the Daily Prophet upside down.

"So, are you back with us now?" asked Ginny, rubbing Hermione's back.

"What's the matter, Hermione? You can't miss Lia this much. She's only in school; you knew she was going to Hogwarts the moment she was born," said Ron.

Hermione downed her tea and sighed.

"It's not Lia, though I do miss her. It's... well, I forgot to tell you about it because Lia going to Hogwarts and her questions about her —" Hermione just gestured the word with a wave — "temporarily drove everything relating to work out of my mind. I can only handle so much about ihim/i. Remember that day I almost missed joining you to get Lia's wand? We were trying an Unforgiveable case that day."

She winced and reached for her empty teacup. Ginny mercifully refilled it before letting Hermione gulp at it.

"The accused suddenly pleaded guilty after months of denying charges and keeping silence. He said he was using the Imperius on Muggleborns, making them do unlawful things, because he and his accomplices were trying to eradicate the... _The Hermione Granger Fund_."

"The what?"

"Exactly! I had no idea! I must have looked so stupid in the courtroom while everyone stared at me. I demanded what confounded fund this was, and we discovered there _is_ this huge classified account in Gringotts named after me, for the purpose of helping Muggleborns attain niches in the Wizarding community. The goblin we summoned refused to disclose who financed and maintains this account, but he did say, just to fire us up, that the financier is a Pureblood."

"A Pureblood?"

"Yes! And of course, the goblin's goading worked. The man in trial and his cohorts rioted. They were from old families who still think Muggleborns scum. It was all kept under wraps, and there was a motion of Obliviating everyone to keep the fund secret. But while we debated over this motion, one of the scribes sent a memo to someone outside. We never recovered it. We fired the idiot, but we had to consider modifying the memory of _everyone_ in the Ministry. It was a mess. You realise how people might abuse this fund if news of it gets out. Ugh. And it's named after _me_. I feel responsible. It's currently worth _twelve_ hundred thousand galleons!"

Harry, Ginny and Ron opened their mouths, but now that she was on a roll, Hermione went on without allowing interruption.

"That's more than a million galleons. I wish someone would just bury that kind of money. It's lucky we did Obliviate the whole Ministry, or else — I don't know! Even Julius looked like a goblin for a moment when he heard the amount. I'm the only one who knows about it now. As if that's not enough, as if I wasn't already losing sleep speculating endlessly, there was a buzz yesterday in the Bureau of Immovable Property and Possessions about ihim/i acquiring a cottage in Hogsmeade!"

"Oh," said Ginny.

Harry frowned.

Ron grunted.

"He's not supposed to come back! I could sue him, send him packing. But — but, what if, you know — do you think —?"

"Hermione, you're white. Calm down."

"Ginny, you see, if it's business, he could come and go. He wouldn't need a cottage — a cottage! I could sooner see Hagrid in a chateau. And anyway, he has ino/i business here! They surrendered all their British estates, their vaults, even their ancestral home. I couldn't think of a reason he'd want to live in Hogsmeade! And in a cottage, for Merlin's sake. What is he playing at? It's so small. My own Thalia has to have a whole yard and a rumpus room. And I don't suppose he would — it's in the agreement — I couldn't — but he violated it first — Oh, God, it's school term! She should be going to — and Thalia knows her father's name! They can't —"

Hermione didn't burst into tears. They just came spontaneously and quietly, ending her incoherent babbling. Ron and Harry both looked bewildered, but she was grateful that they didn't press her just then, only let her hide her face on Ginny's shoulder and hair.

A small part of her mind said she was overreacting. It had been twelve years, after all. But Thalia wasn't her only child and 'out of sight, out of mind' didn't work for mothers. It was her heart doing the talking right now. She was both glad and sad.

At the same time, she wanted to mangle someone very badly. 


	10. Sibling rivalry

**Sibling Rivalry

* * *

**

It had been a trial of a Tuesday.

It had rained the previous night; the morning was overcast. Callie thought it had been ominous. She had never seen a greyer day.

Shortly after breakfast, Kia and Thalia bumped into each other—and like the laden clouds above the Great Hall's ceiling, the collision emitted sparks. Jessica and Jesusa immediately gasped exaggeratedly and just as melodramatically drew their arms sideways to shield the others moving toward the doors. Callie felt really violent toward the two, but chose to keep her eyes on Kia and Thalia.

"Come on, please, Lia," said the Ellington-Shaw girl, tugging on Thalia's arm.

Now, Thalia might have followed, but Kia's Irish-Mexican temper erupted. "You don't turn your backs on me. I will not be dismissed like that."

Callie saw Thalia swell and turn red. Callie held her breath. But Thalia's voice was like syrup. "I'm sorry, Ronk— Kia. Forgive us for being rude, iKia/i. By all means, shall we go off together?" She swept an arm gracefully and even bowed. "After you."

Kia blinked, taken aback, and then nodded. Lia's smile was angelic.

The moment Kia's back was turned, however, Lia said in a carrying whisper: "Mud before springwater."

Now, Callie had always been serene. Her grandfather had said it was exhausting just to rouse her. But that simple phrase uttered behind her somehow snapped something, jerked a plug, yanked a stopper...on the temper Callie didn't know she had.

She whipped her head around and glared at Lia. Even as she did it, she had this small tug in her heart saying it was wrong to glare at this girl, but Callie was beyond tugging. If Kia hadn't been quick to hold her wrist, Callie might have slapped or punched or drawn her wand.

As it was, Callie just said through gritted teeth, "Pearls before swine.*"

And then she shook off Kia's hand only to grab it and haul her away.

They were the first to reach the Charms corridor. Kia dug her heels in to stop, panting, but Callie still continued running and didn't stop until she was bent over a sink. She revisited her strawberry and clotted cream scones and sweet tea.

"Aww, Callie, you were _really_ upset," said Lia, still out of breath, arriving at the bathroom and promptly grabbing Callie's hair.

Callie rinsed her mouth and moaned. What had come over her? She would have to apologize to Lia, and maybe even explain that she hated the word 'mud', because she had grown up being told stories of her dear mother being branded with that word. Of course, Lia might not have meant anything even remotely wicked, she was probably just teasing. Callie's reaction, on the other hand— she grimaced.

She and Kia were quiet when they exited the toilet. A queue had formed by the time they went back to the Charms corridor. Lia was waiting for them, leaning against the wall and tapping her foot. The tapping stopped when she spotted Callie and Kia. And then she walked over.

Her face was blank, devoid of emotion. Their classmates watched avidly, and Jesusa and Jessica were being silly cows again, shielding everyone again. Callie gulped. She wanted to apologise in private, not in front of this meddlesome crowd. They wanted a show, and Callie had been raised with an aversion to such. It was tacky.

She opened her mouth to ask Lia if they could go away from the onlookers a bit, but Lia cut her off.

"You called us swine."

Callie grimaced again. "I'm sorry."

"You will be."

* * *

It was absolute torture. Callie felt so sick she'd heaved herself dry before lunch. It was the first time she had an enemy, and that enemy was Lia, whom she liked so much and only inadvertently offended. _Ugh._

To make it worse, Kia had heard the threat, so she had constantly looked around, never far away from Callie, giving everyone the evil eye, even the teachers, daring one and all to hex, kick or give undue detention.

After lunch, they had no more classes, and Callie wanted nothing more than to hide in bed and wish everything blown over by the next day.

She didn't even raise her eyes from her feet as Kia steered her out the Great Hall.

Just then, Professor Flitwick appeared by her legs.

"Dears, can you kindly deliver a message to Professor Hagrid for me?" the tiny professor squeaked. "I lost the Bowtruckles he lent me for my class. They escaped and are probably back at the Forbidden Forest by now. I need him to give me two of them again. But no hurry. Have you got that?"

"Yes, professor," said Kia. Callie just nodded.

"Thank you, dears! I'm off to my fifth-years. You can go to the Owlery and send the message by owl or you can go to Professor Hagrid yourselves and just tell him. He should be in his hut." He conjured a tiny roll of parchment and gave it to them, a permission note.

Kia was delighted to go out to the grounds, but Callie was still miserable. She still kept her head down. She didn't even notice Kia knocking on the door of the gamekeeper's hut. She only gasped when she was knocked to the ground.

"Fang! _Down, Fang! _Are you alrigh', miss?"

Callie got up and nodded.

"Sorry abou' Fang. He gets overexcited when there's comp'ny. What can I—? Huh. Look at you."

Callie looked back down. Did Professor Hagrid see how wretched she was? Did he need to comment on it?

"Callie's indisposed, Professor, don't mind her. Professor Flitwick sent us..."

She tuned out the conversation. There was some argument. It sounded like Kia wanted to take the Bowtruckles and Professor Hagrid refused... and then there was Kia saying, "Thank you, sir. We'd love to. Maybe next time. I think I need to bring my friend to bed."

And then they were walking back toward the castle. Callie looked back. She felt she'd been rude to Professor Hagrid as well. To her surprise, he stood there beside his big black dog, Fang, and he waved at her.

"He invited us to tea. He said you looked like a dear friend of his. Look, I think I see Professor Flitwick coming toward the doors to meet us. He must have worried about us green things out here for him."

They sped up but the tiny professor still beat them to the front oak doors.

And then he was deluged in water.

Callie and Kia yelped. The water had splashed their socks and it was frigid.

Laughter erupted from behind the house-point hourglasses. Lia and Dionelise emerged. Of course, when they saw the sputtering Professor Flitwick, their laughter died quickly, and as though drained like the hogshead still floating several feet above everyone's heads, their faces lost colour.

After three violent sneezes, Professor Flitwick dried himself, gave five points to Slytherin for a magnificent Levitation Charm, took twenty-five points from Slytherin for the use the charm had been put to, and stormed off. When he sneezed again as he reached the staircase, he turned around and yelled, "Another twenty-five points from Slytherin!"

At his yell, the hogshead dropped, narrowly missing Callie and Lia. They both jumped away. Without looking at each other, the four of them parted. That tension didn't help Callie later as she lay in bed. She didn't go down to dinner.

"Is it true you made Granger and Ellington-Shaw lose fifty points?" said Jesusa. Callie jumped and wearily turned to see the girl peering at her between the drawn bed curtains.

"Good job, witch!" said Jessica from somewhere in the room.

"Shut up or we'll lose five ihundred/i points because I murdered you," said Kia.

Callie moaned.

* * *

The staff room usually filled between supper and bedtime, the one time of day when the Head students were in charge and the teachers were assured of no interruptions to their rest, but not eager to be abed just yet. Teaspoons rotated in teacups serenely. Quills scratching and abaci rattling were background music to the scattered chatter. The Headmistress was proud of her staff — well, most of them — and she rather liked being there in their midst, though she wasn't one to contribute a word herself.

She had already told them, the newcomers, not to mind her in the least. She had never been one to talk, and as she grew older, Minerva had found she preferred listening more and more.

Annetta was after Minerva's heart. They usually sat together in companionable silence, each reading a copy of Transfiguration Today, where Annetta's dissertations were published every three months.

Today, however, Annetta was not in her usual place near the head of the table, but was in the middle, helping Pomona give Filius a Lemon, Gurdyroot-and-Plimpy Gills infusion, a lesser-known alternative to Pepper-up. The infusion was something very few Wizarding folk wanted or bothered with because of the smell. But Filius had a strange reaction to Pepper-Up. It made him noisily and very foully flatulent. Something Poppy wouldn't take to account against a speedy cure. And as Poppy was quite devious when it came to stubborn patients, there Filius was.

"But it's your hide when Poppy comes after you. Really, can you be even more infantile, escaping from the infirmary?" Annetta said.

Filius looked up from his smoking, reeking goblet to exchange a look with Minerva, whose lips and cheeks twitched in amusement. Annetta was thirty-four. Filius was half a century and a decade older.

"This Malfoy girl we have, is she a daughter of Draco Malfoy? There is no other, right?" Pomona asked, diverting Annetta's scolding.

"Yes, dear," Minerva answered without looking up from her paper, though she tensed inwardly.

"Never would have thought it," said Filius. "Except for the grey eyes, she's not a Malfoy at all. In fact, she reminds me of —"

_"Janus, leave the cupboards alone!" _Minerva barked. "Oh, I'm sorry; I thought I saw you approaching it in my peripheral vision. Do remember to stay away, dear, our cupboards are reserved for Hestia's classes now. I never knew other enclosed spaces so prone to Boggarts. I think they like being here right under our noses."

After this long uncharacteristic babbling from the Headmistress, the eccentric, slightly dotty Potions professor calmed down from his sputter and settled back to marking his class's papers. Minerva smiled in apology at Filius for the interruption, but conveyed a warning in her eyes...

...which, unfortunately, was lost on Filius's cold-fogged brain.

"And I never would have thought Miss Granger would have a child so soon as well. I remember resolving not to quit until I have taught a child of hers, but I hadn't bargained my dream would be realised only a year over a decade."

"She's eleven, Filius," cajoled Annetta, grinning, no doubt thinking the side-effects from the infusion was manifesting.

"No, no, I mean Hermione Granger, the mother of our current Miss Granger, who was the one who conspired with her friend the worthy Miss Feliciano to upend that rainwater hogshead on me."

Minerva felt a muscle twitch below her eye. The cat was out. It had never been a secret, per se. Just never made public.

_"The_ Hermione Granger? Harry Potter's friend?" asked Annetta, who had lived in New Zealand.

"Yes, yes, she was a favourite of mine, of nearly all of us, isn't that right?" Filius looked around at the table, showing his purple Gurdyroot-Plimpy moustache. "One of the cleverest we ever taught. She ought to have been in my House."

Minerva didn't snort at that, as was her wont. She only sighed and hoped this chat wouldn't go too far. She'd promised Hermione to keep the gossip down.

"But wait a moment, if Miss Granger is Hermione Granger's child, why Granger? Why isn't the child using her father's name?"

No one answered. Janus paused in his mouthing to glance up at the sudden silence. Everyone else had something to read or peer at while Annetta flushed at her faux pas.

"Essays so soon, Janus?" Annetta asked, to make up.

Janus blinked. "I, uh, made my students list their favourite Potions ingredients. A potion could come up from these, don'tchuh know."

Filius, though now very groggy from Gurdyroot and Plimpy Gills, still took that in and sent another eloquent look to Minerva, who just shrugged philosophically. One couldn't always have the best.

* * *

Lia picked at her breakfast that Wednesday morning. She'd confessed all to her Uncles Harry and Ron last night. She felt horrible. She'd lost Slytherin fifty points on her _second day_ at school, (probably) made Professor Flitwick ill, and (certainly) hurt her sister.

Even while Lia exploited Dionelise's impish alter-ego, she'd noticed Callie's dejectedness throughout the day. Lia wanted to cancel any and all plans of a prank, but Dionelise had looked so radiant when they'd found that hogshead after looking where Callie and Kia had gone off to. Dionelise had been eager and unstoppable.

Lia looked over at her friend serenely sipping her tea. Her twin uncles would love Dionelise, after they discover what's underneath the deceptive daintiness.

Mail arrived, but Lia didn't have a reply from her uncles yet.

On the Gryffindor table, a pretty tawny owl with the symbol of a store in a silver chain around its neck landed in front of Callie. She took the slender box tied to the bird's leg and unwrapped it.

Lia watched. Her breath caught as the cut-glass vase sparkled in the morning light. The moment Callie placed it on the table, a bouquet of wild and hothouse flowers sprouted and bloomed at the mouth of the vase. Callie was radiant now, a very different Callie from the day before. She read a small card, beaming widely. She said something to that Kia girl, and both of them grinned happily.

Lia felt her very first pinprick of jealousy.

And the pinprick didn't remain a pinprick. By the time she went to the greenhouses, the pinprick was a gaping, throbbing hole of resentment in her chest. It didn't help that she was surrounded with plants. No one had given her flowers before.

She didn't have her father to give her flowers.

Only Callie would receive them.

Only Callie had him. And suddenly Callie wasn't so innocent any longer. She had what Lia should have had.

After Herbology, Lia went to Transfiguration in the same listless state. Professor Morfosa scolded her for leaving everything blank in that first day's surprise exam. The professor had only wanted to gouge the class's knowledge of the basics and hadn't asked anything beyond their course book's first five pages, but Lia hadn't answered anything, nor did she answer Professor Morfosa's questioning. She ended up losing ten points.

Most of the Slytherins glared at her all through lunch.

"What's the matter, Lia? Are you ill?"

She just shook her head at Dionelise.

It was her turn to hole up in their common room and not go down to dinner.

She wanted to hit herself for being silly, but she didn't feel silly at all. Only sad. She'd need a night to stew over this and then she'd be better tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she wouldn't care about her absentee father again.

So what if he gave flowers to his daughter? And who even said the flowers were from him? It was probably from another relative. A man who could leave her and her mother behind for another woman and another child just _couldn't_ be the kind to do that... sweet gesture.

She thumped her pillow and grunted.

"Lia?" Dionelise called outside her bed curtains. "We have to go to Astronomy."

Lia sniffed and wrested her arm from under a pillow to peer at her watch. It was a half-hour to midnight.

She sat up and pulled her curtains back. Dionelise was sitting on her own bed, cloak already donned. She smiled at Lia tentatively. "Are you alright? You can stay in bed if you like. I'll tell them you—"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Your cheeks are wet."

Lia slapped herself in her haste to wipe. "I drool a lot."

Dionelise nodded. Because she didn't pry, Thalia put an arm around her shoulder after fastening her own cloak and they went out their dormitory and out the common room that way, side by side. Lia was glad of the comfort.

All first-years of all houses were stood there sandwiched by the battlements of the Astronomy Tower. Professor Sinistra checked attendance, snorted impatiently at the clouds, and conjured a projection of a portion of the Milky Way herself.

"Before you grumble that we might as well have done this in a classroom, this spell I just used only works when cast from high up, as we are here, or atop a hill or a mountain. Now just be patient and listen to me. We'll be through in another half-hour or so, dears..."

Lia didn't even realise she'd been staring at Callie until Callie caught her eye and smiled the same smile Dionelise had given earlier: hesitant and timid.

Oh, and she was right to be hesitant and timid, what with her mother being a... usurper! Lia glared and looked away.

The class finished without Lia remembering a thing. She jumped when a hand closed around her wrist and pulled her away from the end of the spiral staircase to the hallway.

_"What are you doing?"_ She pulled away violently and hit her hand on the stone wall. "Ow!"

Callie reached for her hand again but Lia drew back, glaring.

"I want us to be friends again, please, Lia," Callie said, taking Lia's wrist again and ignoring Lia's tugs. "I'm so sorry for what I said Monday. It was just temper and— please, I don't want you angry with me still. What can I do to make up?"

For several moments, Lia wanted to hold Callie's hand and put an arm around her. But soon after Callie finished speaking in that pleading, sweet voice, Lia's resentment returned. "There's nothing either of us could do," she said vehemently. "Oh wait, you can write and tell your mother I hope she's happy and that she doesn't choke whenever she eats."

With that, she wrenched her arm away and stalked off without turning back even though Callie called to her loudly, outraged.

_That's right. Let her feel an iota of what I feel._

* * *

Callie lay awake all night. Even by the time there was light seeping in through the parting in her bed drapes, she still didn't move. In the end, Kia had to leave by herself to breakfast. That was long ago. It must now be less than an hour before Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Callie cared little.

Her teeth ached. She didn't know how long she'd been clenching her jaws to keep from screaming. Her fists ached, too. She'd had to clench them to keep from running like mad to the Slytherin common room and demand answers from Lia.

What did Lia know about Callie's mother?

And whatever she knew, how dare she talk like that!

* * *

Hermione found the cottage at the very corner of the bend separating the residences from the business hub of Hogsmeade.

She grudgingly admitted it was nice, log and brick, tucked in the middle of trees and flowerbeds. The arched windows had forest green shutters with shamrocks carved in the middle.

Smoke curled from the fat chimney.

Her knees nearly buckled. They were here.

Or was it just him? And why?

Hermione took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and walked through the open garden gate. She might as well get this over with while she was here. She had every right to question him. They'd signed an agreement. She didn't remember any codicils giving him even the tiniest leeway to this madness.

There was another shamrock on the door, this one brass. The third leaf was suspended over a matching brass knob. A knocker. Hermione tapped it with her wand. It lifted and dropped thrice, making a discreet _tap-tap-tap_.

It matched her heart's drum. Who would open the door? Would it be—

_"Hermione?"_

Oh, no, he couldn't do this. Hermione gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders again. She ignored Draco's—she ignored ihim/i, and asked, also whispering, but without the awe, "Is Calliope here?"

Draco's jaw popped audibly as he closed his mouth. He also closed the door.

"We have an agreement, if I recall correctly." All business now. Huh. Well. Hermione was the queen of 'all business'.

"Yes, we do. Which is why I've come to demand answers. You broke the agreement. A Wizarding agreement. I want to know how you're breathing and talking and walking without so much as a hint of a recent blood poisoning."

"Why, you're right, I'm healthy as a hippogriff! I think I didn't break the agreement."

"Don't play games with me!" She wanted to slap his arm, but that meant touching him. She wouldn't touch him. "What did you do? How—?"

"How about we discuss it in The Three Broomsticks? Or Madam Puddifoot's, if you prefer?"

Hermione growled. Draco chuckled, which made Hermione growled again.

"Don't you want to show off your new property?"

He lost his smile. Hermione had lost her vehemence.

"Can I see her? I mean, she doesn't have to see me, I just—"

She saw him wince when her voice broke. Ignoring her start of surprise, and then her struggles, he put his arm around her shoulder and steered her toward High Street, away from the cottage.

_"Let me go, Draco!"_

"I already did once. And I regret it."

* * *

Some miles away at Hogwarts castle, Draco's little girl likewise insinuated herself on Hermione's little vixen.

Callie had missed Defence, but now she was in Charms. Professor Flitwick hadn't arrived yet though the first-years had been in the classroom ten minutes already. The Ellington-Shaw girl had gone to check what was holding up the professor in his office.

So Callie had taken her place lightning-quick beside Thalia Maura Granger.

"What did you mean by what you said last night about my mother?"

Lia shrugged, not looking at her, though Callie saw her recoil a little. "Did I use deep, deep words last night? Don't you understand it?"

_"No, I don't!"_

Lia tilted her chin a little. "How old are you?"

Callie was so taken aback by the question Lia had to answer it herself. "You're eleven, too, right?"

Callie nodded.

"So we're the same age."

"Will you just answer my question? What does our ages have to do with my mother?"

Now Lia turned to give her a cutting look. "Let me tell you something about me. My father's name is Draco Malfoy."

Callie clapped a hand to her mouth.

Because as soon as Lia said it, Callie somehow _knew_ it wasn't untrue. Her eyes moved to Lia's hair, to Lia's chin... and those eyes, though they were brown—

Suddenly, she was furious.

"So this is why," she said under her breath.

Lia heard her. "Oh, you bet _this_ is why!" she said derisively.

Callie was quiet now. She was always quiet when she was utterly, utterly angry. She continued to whisper, "You and your mum is why my mum left my dad."

_"What?_ How dare you! _You and your mum_ is why my dad left _my_ mum!"

They didn't know any hexes yet, but they pointed their wands at each other's faces just the same. Their magic crackled loudly as sparks flew.

* * *

The Three Broomsticks would be too crowded for their conversation. Madam Puddifoot's was out of the question. Draco ended up leading Hermione to Chez Belinda, a new restaurant he'd been planning to try anyway.

That he was about to do so _with Hermione_ astounded him. His insides were probably still somewhere around his calves. Nothing had prepared him to her arrival at his very doorstep so soon. He'd expected an owl, a Howler. He'd hoped it might even have been a call on the Floo. But here she was beside him.

"Bon jour, bienvenu. I'm Belinda. Table for two? Would you like to be in the patio facing the back garden, perhaps? Right this way, s'il vous plait."

He liked Belinda. The woman didn't bat an eye even when Hermione threw off his arm and elbowed him. Belinda just nodded back at him when he nodded to her questions.

He pulled a chair for Hermione but she sat down on another. Pity. Their surroundings were quite too pleasant for an unpleasant mood.

"Your server will be with you shortly." Belinda left. She was probably glad to. And Draco doubted she would dare send a server and risk losing that server to Hermione's apparent wrath.

Draco expelled breath noisily. Hermione didn't look at him. She was too busy rending the strap of her bag and blinking. Oh, gods, she was near tears.

"Callie isn't at the cottage, Hermione. I didn't drag you away from her."

She sighed. He saw her mouth 'Callie' before turning to him.

"Tell me everything. Why are you in England? It was in the agreement that you'd stay in France and wouldn't ever try seeing—"

"I did stay in France. And I'm not trying to see Thalia."

She gritted her teeth and there was a sharp sound as the leather strap she'd been twisting finally snapped off her bag. She ignored it. "I can't believe it, is there really no time indicative in that clause about your 'stay' in France?"

iPop!/i She'd conjured the document. She read through it expertly. "Oh, Merlin."

"Yeah, well, it was rather hastily drawn, if I recall." Oh, and how he recalled. Every single detail. Even the exact eggshell shade of the curtains in that room at St Mungo's. And how she'd looked in that bed, emitting a joyful glow even as her eyes glared. How she'd smelled. Beating the reek of potions, the scent of motherhood, sweetness and milk, had come from her.

As if she was thinking the very same thing, she made the document vanish and looked toward the garden again.

He took his chance and stared his fill of her.

She hadn't changed, though of course the past eleven years showed on her face—in a kind way, a beautiful way. She was beautiful. He couldn't remember those years when he didn't think of her as that.

His heart made a dismayed bound in his ribcage when she got to her feet. "Well, good luck on whatever reason you're here."

Without looking at him, she left.

"Oh, dear, I hope she wasn't too upset. But no wonder if she was. I completely understand. Shall I get you anything, M'sieur Malfoy?" Belinda was back.

"I'm sorry. I think I'll come back later." Leaving several Galleons on the table, Draco got up. He was suddenly so tired though he'd only been up for an hour.

Belinda escorted him wordlessly to the door. She opened her mouth—probably to wish him a good day—but he spoke over her.

"What did you mean when you said it would be no wonder if she was upset? You know her?" iDo you know about us?/i

"Well, that was Hermione Granger, wasn't it? I've always seen her going here in Hogsmeade with Mr Potter and Mr Weasley during their Hogwarts days. Pity I didn't have the Chez then. But I only just got the money from my grand-mére—Oh, I'm sorry for rambling. What was it you asked? Oh, yes. Well, I just thought she wouldn't be overly happy. It was in the paper that she'd resigned from her position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They probably did something she doesn't approve of. We can only wonder. It wasn't said what it was. And one doesn't fire Miss Granger. She's the type who can only resign to pry herself away from a job. Well. Welcome to the neighbourhood, M'sieur Malfoy. I hope you don't cook." Belinda smiled affably.

Draco returned it. "Oh, I don't. And I'm suddenly famished. I think you can feed me now."

Belinda was delighted. When he was seated again, this time just in the main dining room, he said, "Can I see that Daily Prophet?"

* * *

Hermione tried not to think about anything but the delicious heat of the water. She lolled her head back and reached for the teacup at the edge of the tub. Chamomile, mmm. She'd be fine in a moment.

Just mustn't think. Mustn't recall. Mustn't imagine.

_Tap-tap-tap. _

She groaned. Even that be-damned knocker was etched in her memory!

_Tap-tap-tap. _

Hermione pushed open one eyelid. Oh, an owl. She squinted. If it was Julius's with another pestering letter asking her to revoke her irrevocable resignation, she was going to have to break something.

But it wasn't Julius's owl. This one was a regal black, not pretentious gold.

She rose from the bath and without bothering to throw on a robe, she reached up and opened the window just enough to let the owl in.

The Hogwarts crest was on the envelope, and typical of Hogwarts' owls, the bird left as soon as Hermione took the letter.

_"Dear Hermione,_

_I hope this letter reaches you in fine health and spirits._

_I've read about your resignation from your job at the Ministry. I am herewith offering—nay, begging—that you take the post of Charms Professor at Hogwarts. And I will rather write to you as a friend rather than a prospective employer, too; hence this informal missive._

_Filius has been restricted to bed rest for a week, and then he is no longer to exert himself to cope with the demands of teaching after that. He had a bad cold. And the Healers say it was one of those colds that never leave. We found him unconscious in his office this morning. He had fatigued himself._

_Well, he was getting on. I'm sure if uI/u had been drenched by hogshead water in the middle of autumn I won't be able to recover fully either. He has of course protested violently about Poppy's and the Healers' sentence, but in the end, he gave in. With the condition that we give the job only to someone with your calibre. You are still his favourite._

_It is uncanny that you had also just resigned from your job._

_I'm sure Filius will be ecstatic it's you who will be taking over for him._

_And I'm sure he will forgive your daughter for the hogshead incident, too, if he hasn't already. You know how kind he is._

_Speaking of your daughter, prior to my being summoned to Filius's office, she and another student, Calliope Malfoy, had hexed each other while waiting for their indisposed professor. Nothing serious. Just sparks. I talked to them, but they both said nil about the matter. As neither of them were unharmed (mild burns has been magically, perfectly treated, of course), and as we were occupied with the matter of Charms having no teacher, they received no punishment but the loss of points and a warning from me. They are good children (naturally, for they are yours), I'm confident that was sufficient._

_Now, Hermione, I await your owl. I do hope you will join my staff._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva_

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

She took a towel from the rack and dried herself, her mouth still gaping and closing at the contents of the letter.

By the time she exited to her bedroom, however, she was smiling wryly.

Minerva could very well be a Slytherin. The letter was so subtle in its cunning, but cunning all the same. She had sealed every nook and cranny, fired every arrow and shot every apple. Hermione wouldn't be able to do anything but accept the post.

And accept it Hermione would. Oh, gods. She couldn't wait to be there at Hogwarts.

iIt would be good to teach Charms. I'd always wanted to teach. It had been a cherished childhood dream. I'm going to Hogwarts to teach./i

She waited. No spider feet crawled over her limbs. No cloud shrouded her vision. No sponge closed on her lungs.

She grinned. She was now glad the agreement had been hastily drawn.

I hope this makes up for the near abandonment, dear readers. After being blocked toward the middle because of my lack of pranks in store, the other half was written in three hours, and it was such a fun three hours wherein I laughed so much in surprise and glee. This is one of those occasions when it's proven to me what some writers say about the story moving by itself.

* * *

*This idiom was used as a riposte by the American wit and writer Dorothy Parker, to Clare Boothe Luce, who, motioning Dorothy to precede her to a door, said to Dorothy, 'Age before beauty'. It inspired the scene here.

There you go. Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think.


	11. Family knots

**Family knots

* * *

**

Draco woke that Friday with the desire to go back to sleep, or to yesterday, or to a decade before. It wasn't a new feeling either. He'd only stopped having it since having Callie. And now that he didn't have Callie, add to that his less-than-pretty encounter with Callie's mother, well.

He got up from the divan. It was the only furniture in the entire cottage. He'd had to conjure it, too, along with a tub and a toilet bowl. Right. First on his agenda for the morning (already turning to afternoon) would be furniture. Buy some. Hermione was quite right that he didn't want to flaunt his new property, because it wasn't one to flaunt yet.

He wiped the condensation from one of the windowpanes and stared at his reflection, wondering what Hermione might have seen on his face yesterday. Did she also find any difference? Thought that he hadn't aged much? Regretted not having his handsome self as hers? He grinned at his own humour. "You daft prick."

No, first on his agenda would be Gringotts. The paper had been nothing but speculative about her resignation. One thing couldn't be related to the other, but all the same, he'd breathe better if he was sure the fund hadn't been busted. Or else she'd have his balls.

Actually, he'd like that.

"Will you shut it?"

She wouldn't connect the fund to him, would she? And even if she did, he could always point at Lucius. It was the old loon's idea. All the money earned from the investments made partly from that year's harvest and partly from other real property scattered abroad went to that fund a decade ago. At first, Lucius had thought to name it after Calliope, who had just turned a year old, but then Callie was a half-blood, not a Muggleborn. Lucius had thought it real amusing to open that Hermione Granger Fund. Draco had nearly beheaded his own father then. Amusing, his foot.

Now that he was in Britain, Draco had to check.

He might even add several thousand, come to think of it. Damn Lucius for using her name. It was the closest Draco had to spending money on the stubborn witch.

* * *

"They should be at Potions right now."

"I know. Thalia wrote me her schedule and, well, it's not bad of me, is it? It just stuck in my mind, I didn't purposefully memorize it." Minerva smiled at that. "Who is this Professor Demouit? He sounds foreign. Italian? French? He must be very good--"

Minerva tried to cover her snort with a cough but Hermione still caught it. She paused, the biscuit halfway to her mouth. "What is it?" she asked her former teacher. "Isn't he up to scratch?"

Minerva frowned reproachfully, as though Hermione had been rude to even ask that, as though ishe/i hadn't been snorting earlier. "He is capable, only... er, peculiar in his methods."

"For instance?"

"Oh, I'll give you an instance. Poppy rather hates the man, because he labels his potions in the most absurd manner. You can imagine how disconcerting it is to ask for Pepper-up and receive a bottle with 'Poxifier' and the skull and crossbones marked all over it."

Hermione laughed even while her expression grew bewildered. The Potions teacher iwas/i peculiar.

"You'll meet him on Monday. There are no secrets in a house with children*, you know. And this is a school. So I'd rather not announce your appointment to anyone yet. Let us have a dull weekend."

Hermione nodded and sipped her tea. It was final. She was going to teach at Hogwarts. She'd been tempted to walk in through the gates and perhaps see her daughter (just her _daughter_; that agreement had so many holes she'd have burned it if the holes weren't accommodating her own desires so much) by accident, but steeled herself against that foolishness. She'd arrived that afternoon through the Floo. The Headmistress's office had not changed: beautiful, regal, dignified, etched and humming with magic and tradition. Dumbledore had winked at her the moment she stepped past the grate.

"Now, then, perhaps you can tell me why you left your old job? What have they done now?"

Hermione couldn't help smiling at that. Such was Minerva's relationship with her that it never occurred to the dear elder witch that Hermione could even be with the least fault. "You know, they could have done me the favour of letting me resign rather than firing me."

"Oh, tush. The only person there who might even cosider firing you is Dolores Umbridge, and I hear iyou/i are the one in the position to fire that hanger-on if you so desire."

"Alright, I'll tell you. But first, you tell me, how are your Muggleborns getting on?"

Minerva actually flushed. The blush was so out of place in that venerable, aged face. It was almost comical. "Oh, is that it, then? I thought it was only a matter of time. I also thought you'd be... stunned, staggered and stupefied--"

"Yes, and look stupid, too. Hence, I was furious. When I found out, we were in a trial, Minerva! Prosecuting several Purebloods for casting the Imperius on witches and wizards, who were all of them Muggleborns. These Muggleborns have been bespelled to do petty but still outrageous misdemeanours. One of the accused then admitted he and his cohorts were trying to dissolve the Hermione Granger Fund. Of course, you know about that fund, don't you?"

Minerva looked apologetic as she tapped the teapot with her wand and then poured. "Drink your tea, Hermione, and breathe. You must forgive me for not ever informing you about it. It was the one proviso of the fund, that beneficiaries do not disclose it. And you know Gringotts contracts are much more stringently binding than, say, those written in haste."

Hermione ignored that jibe. "How long?"

"Oh, for almost a decade now. You never had to worry about it, had you, because your parents were not only supportive but also quite well off, besides you being an only child, but there were many Muggleborns who were forced to attend Hogwarts with second-hand things because either their parents refuse to allocate funds they would rather use on a 'real' education, or the child has siblings whom the parents feel they should dote on because those children do not have magic, or, simply, the family is poor or nonexistent, in the case of orphans. We have our own funds, but not substantial enough. All this changed when the Herm-- well, when that endowment you discovered started benefitting Hogwarts. So really, you shouldn't be so ireful."

Hermione winced. "You're right. It's just... Did it have to be named after me? I'm barely thirty, and I've never even donated a cent to that fund, naturally as I never knew about it!"

"What does your being barely thirty have to do about it?" Minerva asked tersely.

"Oh, nothing, just that it seems more fitting for people with more seniority to have funds named after them. As tribute."

"Well, I want to be dead before I see my name used for any funds, or for anything at all." And Minerva glared as if Hermione had been getting ideas.

Hermione grinned. "My point exactly."

"Hmpf. So you resigned just because, not dead and barely thirty, you'd been humiliated having a fund named after you?"

"No! Yes. I mean. Oh, Merlin, don't be mad at me, Minerva. I suppose I acted rashly, but that was a bad day for me. I probably only wanted to be rid of Julius, too."

"Julius? Who is that?"

"I thought we will only talk about my appointment, Minerva. Aren't you ashamed of this? We're gossiping."

Minerva sent her a gimlet gaze. "Tell me everything and don't you take that condescending tone with me, Miss Granger."

Hermione giggled.

* * *

Goblins were an odd species. No, an infuriating species. This one was positively goading Draco.

"There was a hearing? Of Purebloods wanting to eradicate this fund?"

"No, Draco Malfoy, there was a hearing of Purebloods using spells on their own kind, well, Muggleborns, but your own kind, right?"

Draco imagined how far the goblin would fly if he kicked it. The image appeased him somewhat. "How did the Purebloods know of the fund? It is classified, is it not?"

"All funds are classified, I should think. But your kind loves to flaunt parting with your gold ifor a cause/i." At that moment, the goblin finally caught sight of the nerve pulsing at Draco's temple, and continued less abrasively, "When there is no charity specifically named in a will that endows monies to charities, all charities benefit. As such, these beneficiary charities are then revealed as beneficiaries, but only if the other heirs in the will wishes to know them, not that they can do anything with the knowledge. We at Gringotts adhere to the will of the dead, not the living."

"I'm glad I discovered that now, it will save me effort and spleen later, if ever Lucius dies and I'm one of the heirs," Draco muttered. More audibly, he said, "Thank you. I trust your... tenacity also applies to retainment of accounts--"

"--so long as the account holds a Galleon," said the goblin staunchly.

"Yes, well, that's excellent!" Draco rolled his eyes. He knew for a fact that there were accounts holding no more than two knuts, but these goblins kept them. "Here, I'd like to add gold to the fund we were discussing."

Draco wrote down the amount and signed on the form the goblin handed him. The goblin's eyes widened for a millisecond, and then the brusqueness returned and a nod was Draco's dismissal from the counter.

"Merlin, that was brutal," Draco muttered as he got out the bronze door to the weak autumn sunlight in Diagon Alley. "I love Muggle banks."

He walked to the Leaky Cauldron pondering about what he'd discovered. Hermione knew of the fund now. But what could she do about it? He almost wished she'd do something about it. Maybe then she'd attack him in his house.

"Have to get furniture."

* * *

"Don't come near me! Where did you get that? What are you going to do with it?"

Dionelise was currently her devious alter-ego. In the little bowl hooked to her wrist were black round things, some gleaming, some pocked: doxy eggs. And in her hand was her accurate little catapult. Lia scooted as far away as she could without leaving their table. Lia was fatally allergic to doxy eggs. She could still remember that horrendous day when she and her family discovered the allergy. She didn't want a repeat of the experience.

Professor Demouit was in front of the class reading aloud from a famous potioneer's biography in a monotone rivalling Professor Binns's. Most of the class were doodling notes and passing them back and forth, the rest were napping with their eyes glassy and half-open. Calliope Grace Malfoy, sitting two rows ahead, was reading something else behind her propped copy of the biography.

"Doxy eggs stick to fabric and hair, you know," said Dionelise. Lia cringed and leaned away as Dionelise used tongs to put an egg in the catapult. "This is for the fifty points."

And then she aimed the catapult at Callie.

Lia didn't know why her stomach sort of went cold or why she shouted, i"No!"/i But afterwards, she realised it was probably because some deep sister-knowledge in her somehow knew what would happen beforehand. And protested against it, because what happened was horrible.

Because of her shout, everyone in the class who was awake turned to Lia, including Callie. The upshot of it was, instead of getting a doxy egg in her hair, Callie got the egg full in the face, right on her upper lip, just below her nose.

Not five seconds passed before the hives broke out in Callie's face even while she was still looking down at the floor at what hit her. And then she jumped up so violently her stool and table fell off their legs. "Ow, iow!/i It burns, it ihurts!"/i Her hands shook around her face, but she couldn't dare touch. Lia knew the feeling. She was already by Callie's side. Callie was dancing away from her. "Don't touch me!" Callie was sobbing now.

Ignoring the professor, who was ordering Lia back to her seat and dimwittedly yelling at Callie to shut up and tell him what was wrong, Lia grabbed Callie's arm and hauled her out of the room.

""I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but I'm taking you to the hospital wing. Hang in there. I have to drag you, or you'll just keep dancing on the spot."

"Leave me! _Leave me!_ It hurts! Make it stop! _Get your hand off my arm!"_

Callie's sobs gave Lia an idea.

Madam Pomfrey heard the sobbing long before they reached the hospital wing. She careened out of the ward and almost ran headlong into Callie's shoes. Lia had been levitating her.

"Don't touch her, ma'am. It hurts."

"What happened? Was she cursed?" Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and relieved Lia of Callie's levitation. Lia sagged against the wall and stayed there for a second before following the nurse and Callie inside the ward. Madam Pomfrey made several complicated swishes and flicks and though Callie was placed on a bed, she hovered several inches above the sheets. At a mutter from Madam Pomfrey, she glowed orange. That probably meant something.

"It was a doxy egg, ma'am. She's allergic," Lia said in passing; she was already running toward what seemed to be the storeroom.

"What are you doing? Come back here, child!" called Madam Pomfrey.

Lia was daunted by the vast and tall shelves. In her panic, she might just cause more trouble. She had a vision of all these medicines shattering and flooding the floor. She ran back to Madam Pomfrey.

"She needs murtlap, please, not the essence, but the murtlap growth, chopped and boiled in lobalug venom diluted with milk."

Madam Pomfrey gaped at her. "And here I thought I would have to consult the Healing Tome before I could do a thing. I've never encountered a doxy allergy before. Not at Hogwarts, where there are no dox--"

"Ma'am, stop talking and make the antidote! She'll have a fever soon, and she'll be vomiting! The antidote will be useless then if we wait much longer!"

Madam Pomfrey ran. Lia wrung her hands and cringed and cowered at every whimper and sob coming from Callie. Callie's allergy seemed to be worse than hers. When she'd triggered her allergy, Lia had only itched at first. The hives and burning hadn't come until hours afterward. But then, Lia had only touched the egg that time she was five. Callie had probably inhaled the egg dander or dust or pollen or whatever it was on the egg that annoyed their bodies so much.

Lia stared as Madam Pomfrey used magic to tip the vial of antidote toward Callie's lips. Callie grimaced at the taste, but gulped it down, eager to end her torture. Lia wanted to say, 'There you go, you'll be fine in a minute,' but her throat was closed up. Callie had the allergy, too. Somehow, it linked them both better than having the same father.

Lia chewed on that. She'd known ever since the Sorting. She'd known even while she raged and plotted. But only now was it making her shaky, making her regret having been jealous and petty. This was her sister.

"I'm sorry."

Lia jumped at hearing her own words. Callie turned to her languidly, eyes wet. She was no longer in pain, but the fever seemed to have come already. Her hand was scorching when Lia took hold of it.

Madam Pomfrey bustled off to get a fever-reducing potion next.

"How-- how come you know what to g-give me?" Callie rasped. "S-so well, you know i-it so well."

"I'm allergic to doxy eggs, too." And here Lia tenderly and gently squeezed the hand she held. She wondered what else she had in common with this sister of hers. "My mum made me memorise the antidote."

Callie wrenched her hand away from Lia's. "At least your mum came in useful this time," she muttered audibly, no longer weak, and with venom.

Before Lia could demand what Callie meant by that, the doors opened, Professor Demouit entered and Dionelise was sobbing over to them. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Calliope. I don't know what came over me." And then she got a good look at Callie and she screamed. i"What happened to you? What did I do to you?"/i

Madam Pomfrey finished administering the fever-reducing potion to Callie and made for Dionelise. "You need a Calming Draught, child. And you, what is the matter with you now?" Madam Pomfrey said, looking at Lia. "You look like a bowtruckle cheated out of its tree. Sit down. Your friend will be fine. She won't even be bilious; I added something in her last potion--"

"Oh, I wish you didn't do that. I was hoping she'd puke her intestines out."

Callie glared. Lia glared back.

* * *

Callie spent most of the weekend in the hospital wing. She was afraid her father and grandparents had already been informed, but when she asked Madam Pomfrey about it, the kind nurse snorted and smiled and said she only tattled to parents in life-threatening situations. Otherwise, she preferred to suffer alone.

It was Sunday evening, and Madam Pomfrey had been noshing on chocolate gateau. Callie was already finished with hers. She was discharged from the ward and charged to commit her allergy antidote to memory. Callie nodded mutely and set off for the library.

"She's probably some blonde brainless bimbo and making her child memorise that antidote is her one bright moment," she mumbled. She mentally chided herself. But she couldn't help it. It galled her that not only did Lia have claim on her--their-- dad, she had a mother, too. Whereas Callie... Even a blonde brainless bimbo was better than nothing, wasn't it?

_"No, it isn't," _she ground out through clenched teeth.

"I don't want you handling my books if you're in a bad temper," hissed Madam Pince. Callie jumped, shook her head and smiled sheepishly.

The librarian peered at her closely for several moments and then went on in her prowl.

Callie didn't know how long she stayed there, engrossed in _Great Wizarding Events of the 21st Century_ but when she lifted her head from the pages and looked about, the library was dark except for her lamp, and Madam Pince was once again nose to nose with her.

"I've warded off three prefects already. The seventh years have all dispersed as well. We really do have to go to bed, don't you think?"

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Callie stood up with the book, intent to return it to its shelf, but Madam Pince took it from her and waved it away with her wand. Callie thanked her again.

"Brown hair is very ordinary, even trite," Madam Pince murmured.

Callie didn't answer. What would she say? At the moment, she was too puzzled and too tired to even feel insulted.

"I've been here so long your faces all look the same. I only remember few. And of those few, one had brown hair. You remind me of her. You are so like, not only in appearance, but in your regard for the written volumes. I saw how you treated that book just now. You know how to turn the pages properly. You don't scrunch it up like most of the Neanderthals here. Now, get along with you. Bed. If you meet a prefect, tell them you've been with me. If Peeves accosts you, tell him the Bloody Baron is coming along right behind you. I iwill/i send him."

Callie didn't like that last bit, but she thanked the librarian yet again and scurried off to Gryffindor Tower. When she got there, she found Kia waiting curled up in one of the couches in the common room. She jumped up when she heard Callie enter.

"About time! Another hour and I was going to the Headmistress and tell her you've been eaten by Madam Pince."

"You knew I was in the library? Why didn't you get me?"

"I tried to. But Madam Pince waved me away. I thought you'd hacked her off and she was making you stay as punishment. But she was looking at you like you're her beloved cat or something, not to be disturbed from your sunning."

Callie laughed. Yes, it was definitely better than a blonde brainless bimbo, indeed.

* * *

Monday morning found Lia listless and lethargic, as if she'd been tailed by a pogrebin all night. She got dressed and went to the Great Hall with Dionelise with her head down and her thoughts in a muddle. But unlike someone who ihad/i been tailed by a pogrebin, she wasn't inclined to curl up on the floor under the Slytherin table. No, she was listless and lethargic and livid. She wanted to kick something. What did Callie have against her mum when it was _her_ mum who was the reason Lia didn't have a dad? Why did they have to blame each other's mums in the first place anyway? Why couldn't they just be sisters and eat s'mores together?

She was tired of all this, Lia decided. She'd gotten her uncles' reply to her confession last night. Short of sending a Howler, they still conveyed they were brassed off at her behaviour to her sister and had admonished her that it was not her business, nor Callie's fault, what happened in the past and that Hermione had not raised her to be like this. And they were right.

She would make friends with Callie today. The mere thought made Lia smile.

Before she could look over at the Gryffindor table, however, Dionelise grabbed her cheeks between her hands and steered her face toward the staff table, where Lia saw Hagrid waving at her. She waved back, and then gasped when Hagrid pointed to his right. There, seated beside the Headmistress, was her mum!

She must have felt Lia looking at her, because Hermione turned to her at that moment. She smiled and mouthed, 'Good morning, love.' And then she slackened her jaws open only to snap it back shut with a hand. Lia took the hint and closed her mouth. Hermione nodded approvingly and turned to converse with Professor Morfosa.

"That's my mum."

"Yes, that's your mum, isn't it? The great Hermione Granger. She's going to be teaching us!" said Priscilla, leaning over from where she sat five places away.

"She is?" Lia was gobsmacked.

"Sure. Flitwick's been ordered to retire for his health. What is she like, Lia? I've always admired her," said Priscilla.

Quillian, who was sitting at their table beside Priscilla, joined in, saying, "And wow, she's quite pretty, isn't she? There are no photos of her anywhere. I read somewhere it was a stipulation from Harry Potter, that his and his friends' publicity hold no photo of Hermione Granger."

"Why on earth?" Priscilla asked.

Quillian shrugged. They all looked at Lia. But she could only shrug, too. She looked back at the staff table. Her mum was really there. What happened? What about her job at the Ministry?

But she noticed she wasn't the only one staring at the staff table and most of them were, like Priscilla, impressed and seemed to be more than looking forward to having the newcomer as a teacher. Lia dismissed her puzzlement and began to grin. She might not have her father, but her mum was so cool.

* * *

"Is it just me, or is the Hall buzzing more than usual?"

"The Hall iis/i buzzing more than usual, as a matter of fact," answered Sir Nicholas, popping between Callie and Kia. "And because one of Gryffindor's own has returned, this time to teach. I'm so proud of her."

Nick theatrically wiped a tear with a lace handkerchief no less pearly and see-through than the rest of him. That was when he caught sight of Callie and Kia. "Oh, begging pardon, my dears." He nodded at them and the rest of the new faces around him. "Welcome to Hogwarts and to Gryffindor. I hope you'll forgive me for my absence in your first week. Patrick's been very accommodating since the war and now he can't seem to hold a hunt without me, although he fondly disdains my attached head as much as ever. You must have already heard of me, of course, or I'll bludgeon your prefects."

"Pleased to meet you, Sir Nicholas," said Callie.

Sir Nicholas blinked. Callie was getting used to this reaction by now. "And you are...?" Sir Nicholas had a delighted expression on his face, as though he already knew who she was and couldn't wait to say, 'I knew it!'

"I'm Calliope Malfoy. They call me Callie."

The delight was replaced with bewilderment. "Malfoy? You don't say!"

"Who did you expect her to be?" asked Kia.

"I thought a Weasley, perhaps or--"

"All the Weasleys are redheads," said Maximillian.

"But she's the spitting image of--"

At that moment, there was a hush in the Hall. The Headmistress had risen from her seat and was sweeping the tables with a sharp look that always silenced them when she wanted to speak.

She cleared her throat and began without preamble. "As you all know, Professor Flitwick, despite his protests, and by edict of Healers, had to cease teaching and enjoy a well-deserved rest and relaxation. We will miss him even as we wish him the best in his retirement. Your new Charms professor has the heartiest approval of your former teacher. His favourite student, I would even go so far as to say, because it is true, and she is someone any mentor would be proud to call 'an old pupil of mine'. Let us welcome Professor Hermione Granger."

Professor McGonagall's speech seemed so sedate in comparison to the applause and cheers that erupted after it. From the Headmistress's wide smile, it seemed she was expecting just that much reaction, and had only tried not to gush in proportion to it. With spots of pink in her cheeks, Professor Hermione Granger stood up and acknowledged her warm welcome with a nod and a grin. "It's good to be back at Hogwarts," was all she said before sitting back down. She seemed really embarrassed when the Hall only cheered louder instead of quieting down. Callie stared at her hungrily. She couldn't get enough of this new professor.

"Now this is getting ridiculous!" shouted the Headmistress. _"Settle down!_ Finish your breakfasts!"

There were some chuckles and then the hubbub fell back to its usual decibel.

"Well, there you go," said Sir Nicholas as though he was continuing a conversation with them. Those who heard him turned to him questioningly.

He looked affronted that they didn't catch on. "I said, there you go!" he ground out to Maximillian, motioning toward the staff table. "You said all the Weasleys are redheads. I know that, boy, and I've known it for decades before your grandfather's grandparents were born. It's just that this Malfoy girl happens to be the spitting image of the new Professor Hermione Granger. And in their day, Miss Granger and Mr Ronald Weasley were quite the thing, if you catch my meaning. So naturally, I assumed a child of theirs would bear the name Weasley. And only a child of Miss Granger's could resemble her so disarmingly..." Sir Nicholas turned to smile apologetically at Callie. "Except for the eyes. They iare/i very Malfoy. Forgive me, dear. Of course your mother must have married your father instead, no? Who would have thought! You turned out quite well. And how is your father and paternal grandparents taking your being in Gryffindor?" The ghost positively chortled at that, only to stop upon seeing the look on Callie's face.

* * *

* * *

Please review! Thank you!


	12. Family knots, indeed

**Family knots, indeed**

**

* * *

**

Lia wished the day away. She received another scolding from Professor Morfosa in Transfiguration for mooning while in class. Defence and Herbology hadn't been much better. Finally, it was lunch. Lia flew to Hagrid's, and then doubled back to fetch Dionelise. When they arrived, Hermione was already there. She got up from the table and squeezed out the breath Lia had just panted back to her lungs. Lia garrotted her mother back.

"This is Dionelise, Mum."

"Hello, Dionelise. Thalia's told us so much about you. I'm so glad for your friendship."

Dionelise could only smile timidly, or perhaps she was still winded from their dash. Hagrid offered them all mugs of tea. Mother and daughter did some chitchat and then Dionelise said, "We can't wait to have you tomorrow, Professor Granger. Lia's been a zombie all throughout this morning."

Lia stomped on Dionelise's foot. "Right, Mum, what are you doing here anyway?" she asked with alacrity. "What about the Ministry?"

"Hang the Ministry. Don't you ever let me hear your teachers complaining about your lack of interest and participation in class, Thalia. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but it was all so sudden. My resignation just happened to coincide with Professor Flitwick's retirement, which you helped bring about, didn't you?" Her mum narrowed her eyes.

"It was an accident."

Hagrid laughed.

"Where's your other friend, Grace?" Hermione asked.

Dionelise suddenly stopped staring at Professor Granger and started playing with her tea bag. Lia flushed. "We've fallen out. I mean, not exactly, we just move in different circles, that's all. We don't meet or talk any more."

"You do?" Hermione sounded amused. "You'd think you weren't sharing a school! And you don't? What about in classes? Well, did you find out her first name and surname?"

_"Dionelise! We have to go!_ Lots of homework. Bye, Mum, Hagrid."

Ignoring Dionelise's grumbles while being dragged yet again, Lia began to wish the next day away. Bugger. She wished Callie away. Why did she have to go to Hogwarts, the stupid bint? She should have stayed in France! Lia didn't want her mother hurt. And what could hurt more than seeing the breathing, talking and walking proof of her father's infidelity? And just that morning Lia'd been planning on being sisters! How selfish of her. She wouldn't inflict that on her poor dear mum.

* * *

Lia wasn't at dinner. Hermione puzzled over that. But then she noticed Dionelise wasn't at the Slytherin table either. It must be true about the homework. She could only hope. Those girls had better not be up to any trouble, especially now that she was here.

Those girls. And she didn't really mean Thalia and _Dionelise_ in that plural.

She sat to the Headmistress's left, facing the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. Due to the agreement, she endeavoured not to turn her head to the other direction without due cause. Aside from a cursory glance at all the tables that morning during their applause to her, Hermione had not looked at the Gryffindor table at all. But Merlin, she positively ached to look. As it was, she had her cheek on her hand, and that hand was slightly shaking with the effort to keep her head from swivelling just the right angle to finally see.

"Hermione, don't hurt yourself. Shall I help you?" Minerva murmured.

"No! Please don't!" she begged Minerva with her eyes.

The elder witch sniffed, but she covertly winked. "I've been hearing very good remarks about this year's incoming students, that unfortunate miscalculated prank involving Professor Flitwick and a waterbutt notwithstanding. I think you will have a grand time with the first years. I almost wish I'm teaching as well, you know."

Hermione nodded fervently.

"One certain student has been having outstanding academic progress. Now, who does she remind me of? It refuses to come to mind. She is a Gryffindor. There she is, _please look. I want to show her to you._"

Tentatively, Hermione did look. Minerva had asked her! To her delight, the agreement didn't curse her. She sat there looking at her daughter and she wasn't dying slowly. Though it still felt like it. It was painful. Looking and not being able to rush over to hold her.

Her Calliope was so beautiful. As beautiful as Thalia. And Merlin, Morgana, Circe, she looked so much like her, only prettier. At this distance, she couldn't see the Malfoy eyes, but Hermione recognised Calliope as hers in the slope and shape of the child's forehead and cheeks. Her hair was a much lovelier shade of brown, gleaming red and gold with each turn of her head, and it wasn't a bush either, but hung almost perfectly straight, curling at the ends.

Her uniform was impeccable. Most of her contemporaries looked almost ready for bed that time of the evening, but not Calliope. She was still groomed to perfection, tie knotted and in place, cuffs buttoned, jumper impeccable. And unlike her mother at that age and in that bench, she sat with her back straight. So straight Hermione wondered if it was painful. But she was glad she could see no jewellery on Calliope aside from the silvery wink of modest earrings and a matching discreet chain draped over her collar. Hermione couldn't see the pendant. It was probably hidden inside Calliope's jumper.

She was spooning peach melba into her mouth. Daintily.

Something clicked in Hermione's memory. "What's her middle name?"

Minerva cut her eyes at her with disdain. "Hermione, I might love you dearly, but still, you can't expect me to remember all these children's middle names."

"It's not Grace, is it?"

"Come to think of it, you might be right. I do remember I was a little astonished they appended such a common name to her. What I mean is, it must be common to _them..."_

Minerva trailed off, because Hermione was giggling like a schoolgirl. When she finished, she had tears in her eyes. Not from giggling.

"Oh, Minerva, what a mess," she said mournfully.

* * *

"WHAT THE F--"

Draco remembered only belatedly that Callie was not in the cottage and he could curse all he wanted, but abstaining from it had been ingrained too long in his instincts he still cut the words off. He let the profanities stream and flood inside his mind instead.

He paced. And roared a curse when he banged his shin on the coffee table. He forgot about the furniture, and how the blasted cottage was too bloody small for pacing without risk of bruises. He sat down and settled for ramming his fist on the cushions of his new couch.

Damn her! Damn her foxiness! Damn her straight to Hades! How dare she! How dare she pull this on him!

Why didn't he think of it before she did? And there he had been at the platform nearly gouging his eyes out just so he wouldn't look! Now ishe/i could look all she wanted! The cunning b--

Draco let his head fall back and it connected with the windowsill. He was seriously thankful Callie was not at the cottage then. The litany that burst from him would make his mother curse his cobblers off if she happened to be within hearing distance.

In all this, the roll of parchment he still held in his other hand remained pristine. He could no sooner crumple a letter from Callie than he could dispose of her old toys. Even if the letter did piss him off. Rubbing his head, he read it again.

_"Dear Daddy,_

_Just giving you some news at school. Professor Flitwick has retired officially. Our new Charms teacher is Professor Hermione Granger._

_Hope you're well._

_Callie."_

There was a distinct undertone in this curt letter that made Draco fear the worst. Which was why he was so furious he wanted to tear the room down, if only the rest of the cottage wouldn't collapse with it.

She just had to show her face, didn't she? All those years of not having her photo in any publication in Europe, and now this. Granted, she probably didn't know Callie was at Hogwarts. Still, he wouldn't put it past her to have used her formidable connections to find out and execute this brilliant ruse through one of the many loopholes in that bedamned agreement.

And now Callie knew who her mother was. Draco just hoped she wasn't hurting, but only heaven knew what his little girl was thinking, assuming, and plotting.

What an utter, bloody mess.

* * *

Callie was at breakfast that Tuesday morning, and she wasn't hurting as her father feared. The day before had passed in the proverbial blur. Aside from writing that short letter to her father, Callie couldn't even remember much. She'd just blocked what had to wait until today.

When she was around five or six, she'd been at a neighbour's pet party. All the guests had a dog or a cat by their side or on their laps. Callie's grandmother-- who had been invited-- had only dropped in with Callie to say hi to the hosts and convey her regrets for not being able to stay because she itched and sneezed in reaction to dander.

Like most children who'd learned their alphabet through animal picture books, Callie had been pining for a pet. But when she saw them finally, those Abyssinians, rexes, lhasa apsos and Weimaraners, it was as if her pining evaporated. There they were. They were wonderful. And they were within reach. She stayed for the party. And she was appeased.

Callie felt that way again now.

There her mother was. She was wonderful. And she was within reach.

Neither of them was going anywhere. And Callie fully intended to be appeased.

Last night, she was certain she almost caught 'Professor Granger' looking at her, but at the same moment Callie had turned to the staff table, the professor seemed to be laughing at something the Headmistress said.

She furtively kept her head angled now so that the staff table was in her peripheral vision even as she cut up her fruit. Was it her imagination, or was 'Professor Granger' never letting her eyes go to the Gryffindor table?

All of a sudden, Callie felt tears sting iher/i eyes. A mother couldn't not know about her child. Why had her mother left her, and now seemed to be determined not to even look at her? Was her father lying all these years and her mother, for some reason, didn't want her?

But she wouldn't wallow on that. She planned to change her mother's mind anyway. Would it be so difficult? Callie thought not. Only, what was the agreement? Would it hinder her? She wanted to cover all her bases and eliminate things, like in mystery novels. The agreement still eluded her, and yet Callie felt like the answer was right there dangling an inch from her nose. The feeling irritated her.

The bell rang. Callie rose from the table as if she wasn't rearing to just Apparate to the Charms classroom. She walked abreast with Kia even though Kia was such a slow-starter who always dragged her feet to their first class as though she'd only gotten up from bed. They were among the last to join the queue outside the Charms classroom. And right behind them came 'Professor Granger'. Callie's heart stuttered.

"Go on in, everyone," the professor said, staying behind them all and opening the door with her wand.

It was hard to believe it was only their second week; this classroom already held so many memories for Callie. This time, she stopped following Kia's dawdling steps and dragged her over to the front row, not to their usual seats in the second, where Callie and Lia had shot sparks at each other.

Kia seemed to come awake for a second, but didn't protest about their being seated dead centre.

* * *

Hermione was silently muttering all the great names in a litany of torture and delight. Calliope was seated right in front of her. Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Hecate, Cerridwen, Paracelsus.

"How far have you come in Charms, then? Professor Flitwick told me to ask you. He said you might want to begin anew with me. Do you?"

Calliope raised a hand. Hermione had to swallow a hysterical chuckle. Oh, this was delicious. She drank her daughter in. She was even more beautiful today than last night, if that was possible. And those eyes. Hermione remembered wondering about those eyes. The last time she'd seen them, both her girls had been too young to ascertain to anyone what colour their eyes would be. Thalia's had darkened to brown, of course. But Calliope's had remained grey, Hermione saw now. They were striking. "Yes?"

"Please, ma'am, we have finished the theory behind Levitation Charms and we were about to have the practical."

"Would you like to go first?" Hermione placed a feather in front of Calliope, and then waved her wand and all the other desks sported feathers as well. She caught Thalia's eye and winked. Her Thalia could levitate a veritable mound of Stunned, 'relocated' gnomes. Hermione was too preoccupied with Calliope to take note of Thalia's dark expression.

"You know the spell? And the proper elocution and wand movement?"

Calliope nodded demurely and swished and flicked, enunciating, _"Wingardium leviosa!"_

The feather easily rose three feet in midair.

"Excellent! Take twenty points to Gryffindor, Miss...?" Hermione pretended to be engrossed in the floating feather to resist the urge to grin at her daughter.

"Malfoy. Calliope Malfoy."

Hermione nodded and turned to the rest of the class. "Now then, let's see you all try. But before you do, I'll let you in on a secret. I don't command when I do spells. In this instance, I won't be commanding the feather to fly. I want you to inot/i concentrate on what you want the feather to do. Rather, I want you to use your mind for something else instead of mentally chanting, 'Fly, fly, fly!' Can anyone guess?"

Calliope raised her hand again. Morgana, Hermione wanted to kiss her for helping her so much in cheating that agreement.

"Miss Malfoy?" _Callie. Draco called her Callie._

"We should see the feather already in the air? That's what I did anyway, Professor."

"And you're right. Take ten points to Gryffindor. Did everyone catch what Miss Malfoy shared? In your mind, see the feather already obeying what you want it to do. That's the trick to all magic, really. Confidence. What is confidence? Belief. In the magic and in yourself."

When the bell rang again, there were twenty feathers hovering in the air and twenty gleeful faces grinning at each other and at Hermione. Points were awarded to everyone. Hermione felt as if she'd burst, and not only because her first year Gryffindor and Slytherin students seemed reluctant to leave, but because of dear, dear Callie, who stopped by her desk on her way out to say, "You're a wonderful teacher, Professor."

Her first compliment from Callie. How bittersweet. She could be much better _mother_, but she wasn't allowed.

* * *

Of those twenty grinning students at Charms, Lia wasn't really included. She was only being careful not to clue her mum in on her turmoil.

Lia was confused. She bumped into someone on the way to the courtyard for break. It was Professor Demouit, who told her off and warned them all he'd be carrying Torch Potion next and see which careless student he'd blow up then.

Dionelise had pity on her and steered her to the nearest copse of trees, sheltered from other students and certain mad professors. Like that night last week before Astronomy, Dionelise didn't pry. Thalia was thankful for that and squeezed her friend's hand even as she pondered on why her mum didn't seem upset even after Callie announced her name. She even seemed... happy? How could she be happy facing Callie?

Except, what if it was all an act? What if her mother was actually trying extra hard to be nice to Callie Malfoy because, like her uncles had told her, Callie had no fault over what happened in the past? But what if it still hurt her mum? And Callie had the gall to sit front row centre!

Speak of the banshee, there she was. Lia marched over. Dionelise was startled at first, but then when she saw that Callie was Lia's destination, reached out and tried to pull Lia away. "Come now, Lia. What's she done now?"

"I have something to say to her, that's all."

They were only yards away then. Callie heard and looked up from where she sat on the bench near the corridor which was open to the courtyard.

"You stay away from Professor Granger, Calliope Malfoy."

Callie looked bewildered. She glanced from Lia to Dionelise and back.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm not doing anything wrong."

"Yes, you are. Just stay away from my mother, do you hear me?"

Just like that, Callie's face went cold and sneery. "I would only go near your mother if I have a lance. That way, I still won't catch her germs even when I gouge her eyes out."

Lia forgot everything she'd been taught. She even forgot where she was. Her hand seemed to move by itself and slapped.

The sound of palm connecting on skin was a loud snap in the silenced courtyard. Callie gasped and blinked, and Lia blinked, too, as she saw her own handprint rise on her sister's cheek. Before she could voice her remorse, however, Callie slapped her back.

Not drawing their wands this time, twin one and twin two went for Round Two.

* * *

It was short. They only exchanged another couple of slaps before Kia, Dionelise, Jesusa and Jessica separated them.

_Now_, they drew their wands.

They used spells this time, by Merlin. Red jets of light erupted from both their wandtips at the same time, collided, and bounced. It happened so fast no one could tell whose spell went where. And certainly, no one would be able to tell how the cauldron on Professor Demouit's (who was passing by) arms exploded just then. Everyone was thankful he was out in the courtyard. The smell of sulphur was strong and suffocating. The professor was miraculously unharmed-- at least, no blood gushed from him--but he promptly passed out.

Professor Morfosa was the first on the scene. Seeing the red faces and drawn wands of Miss Granger and Miss Malfoy, and the way the four other girls seemed to be holding the two apart, what else would she make of it? And as she knew nothing of the two girls' romantic story, who could blame her for her next actions, which was to send summons to Miss Malfoy's parents and an enchanted flying memo to Miss Granger's, who was already at the castle?

The owl bearing the letter to 'Mr and Mrs Malfoy' was very disgruntled, though, because instead of having a bespelled urgent flight after leaving his cosy perch in the Owlery, he only circled back toward the Headmistress's window, because Mr Malfoy was already there.

"I see no violation of ethics in Professor Granger's hiring, Mr Malfoy. Whatever agreement you have between you is just that, between you. It does not involve the school."

"But you know about the agreement, you old bint!" Draco's temper was such that he was speaking what he thought, bar only the worst obscenities. "This is unfair! I demand that you fire her, or make her resign, or curse her blind, I don't care. Just... she can't see Callie while I don't see Thalia-- _OW! _Don't you assault me, woman!"

Minerva McGonagall had risen to her feet in indignation at 'you old bint', and was glad of the distraction of receiving the owl tapping at one of the windows. Seeing the addressee's name, she'd exultantly punctuated Draco Malfoy's rant by ramming the letter under his nose.

"I'm not assaulting you, Mr Malfoy. Really, you do like your theatrics. That letter is yours."

Draco ignored the letter. Just as he opened his mouth to rant some more, however, the door to the office opened, and there his daughters were. Draco just about swallowed his tongue.

* * *

Minerva rose from her desk, pale. _What on earth was this?_ "Annetta?"

"These two girls were duelling! Duelling, Headmistress! And they had assaulted each other, too, from the look of their faces. This is their second clash, isn't it? And something exploded. You might have to question Janus later, however. He is unconscious at the moment. I've already sent a letter to Miss Malfoy's parents and a note to Professor Granger. She should be on her way."

Minerva looked from the two girls to Draco and back. She should have liked Annetta to stay, but the good witch had already left with a nod to Draco.

And Hermione was coming.

Even as she begged the heavens to help her, Minerva wanted to giggle, something she had never had the urge to do in many decades.

* * *

In a moment of sympathy and concord, Lia and Callie exhanged looks, wondering why the Headmistress hadn't begun questioning and ticking off.

Callie couldn't look at her father.

Lia was already cringing just at the thought of her mother's arrival.

* * *

The door banged open. "THALIA MAURA GR--"

Hermione gasped mid-yell and choked. Instinctively, Draco rose to assist her. Hermione glared him back to his seat while she coughed, eyes watering.

"Minerva!" Hermione moaned in tones of reproach and wounded betrayal. "What is he doing here?"

He smirked and tilted his head to the side. Hermione knew what it meant. He had Thalia in his peripheral vision. Hermione wanted to rush him and cover his eyes with the skin from his own nose.

* * *

Lia's usually observant eyes failed to note the exchange between her mother and the man with them in the Headmistress's office, because she was too concerned about self-preservation at the moment.

"Calliope Malfoy was insulting you, mum."

"No, I wasn't!" said Callie.

"Liar!"

But Lia was astonished at the look on Callie's face. "Professor Granger is your mother?" she asked, so quietly and meekly Lia had leaned to her to hear.

"Of course she's my mother!"

"I thought 'Granger' is your stepdad's name or something."

"I don't have a stepdad."

"Oh."

* * *

Hermione, having reined in her desire to flay a certain someone, found a convenient though unfortunate vent for her ire just then. _"What are you two mumbling about? How could you? Are you gutter children? Two fights and not even two whole weeks at school! I'm ashamed of you!"_

"Don't yell at them!" Draco shouted to her face.

"Don't _you_ yell at me and don't you tell me what to do with my children!"

"They're_ my_ children, too!"

* * *

"Ehem."

Red-faced, Draco and Hermione turned to Minerva, and then to Thalia and Calliope, who were both staring at them with wide eyes.

In the same way the two sisters were momentarily united earlier, father and mother exchanged looks and conveyed through their eyes a shared wish for the floor to gape beneath them and swallow them both. 

* * *

* * *

You know the drill: Tell me what you think. ;) Thank you!


	13. Alliances

**Alliances

* * *

**

Janus Demouit got his first warning. One more and he would be on probation. If he was found negligent again during that period, he would lose his post.

But this wasn't what was being talked of at Hogwarts.

The portraits in the Headmistress's office were all former Heads themselves, and could be counted on to be discreet. But they couldn't be counted on to be abstinent. One historical headmaster had been invited to a party yet again, and there, while steeped in mulled mead, he happened to think of entertaining his hosts with a little bit of family drama, something that rarely happened in their domain. As rarities went, news of it spread faster than Dungbomb stink.

The fact that Hermione Granger had twins with Draco Malfoy was astonishing, and the fact that those twins had been fighting each other, oblivious to their full kinship, was amusing. And it was also so very romantic, the higher years thought. Professor Granger and Mr Malfoy were only a little older than them now when their romance unfolded. Even prim and proper Priscilla couldn't help smiling in a silly manner at Lia even as the Head Girl shushed and glared at the other silly gossips.

Hermione was glad her colleagues were seemingly too in awe of her and the Headmistress. Although they all watched out for poor Janus, they all worked and talked as usual. At least, when Hermione or Minerva was present.

In the Headmistress's office: "Forgive me, Minerva, but I thought to liven things up just a bit. It's been dreadfully dull, you know. I almost wish there's a Dark wizard again."

Minerva was so irate with Albus she turned his portrait to the wall.

"And think of those poor girls..." he continued, muffled, as though nothing happened.

"Those poor girls you have now subjected to titters and stares, you mean?"

"Yes. I wish them both to have both their parents."

"How is your gossipmongering going to make that wish of yours come about, Albus?"

"Oh, entertainingly, I'll wager. Now be a dear, Minerva, and turn me back around or at least put me in another, more interesting patch of wall, I've already memorised this one."

* * *

They'd left the Headmistress's office separately and quietly. Callie couldn't look at Lia and Lia couldn't look at Callie but their eyes would stare when they thought the other wasn't looking. They didn't know how their parents parted yet again. But though they'd lingered by the door in a silent, unanimous decision, they'd heard nothing but the swish of Floo.

Also silently, they seemed to have agreed to not acknowledge each other, even during the worst of the gossip when heads would collectively swivel back and forth between the two of them across the tables.

In class, her mother was affable, sweet, patient. Just like with the rest of her students. Outside of class, she wouldn't even look at Callie, even when Callie was outright staring at her. Callie stopped coming to meals at the great hall and took to noshing on the treats her Aunt Pansy and grandmother sent. If she could stop going to Charms as well, she would. But she wanted top grades, and she wanted to continue forcing her mother into noticing her, so she remained in her seat up front, dead centre, and raised her hand at every opportunity, locked eyes with _Professor_ Granger every chance she got and showed the woman that she was unaffected by being unacknowledged, being unwanted. She was a Malfoy. Never mind being a Granger.

Thalia noticed, but was too confused and still too bewildered to act on it. She didn't question her mother, knowing that she might get more answers from simply watching. So Thalia watched, and was hurt almost as much as her sister because Hermione never referred to the subject of Thalia being a twin. Never. Was her mother so determined to continue lying by omission? Was her mother cursed or something? And where was Thalia's own bouquet of flowers? She'd thought she'd get one now. Instead, the owl from the florist continued to arrive only at the Gryffindor table; the bird would land there lightly, just quick enough to discover its addressee was not there, and then take wing and go wherever Callie was.

She only saw Callie in Charms and Potions and Astronomy. And during those Wednesday nights under the dim light of the moon or beside the harsh glow of magical spheres, Callie looked pale, and to Thalia, it was looking at a wan version of herself.

She refused to have a visit with her mother because she knew she would burst with questions and accusations. Hagrid would invite her to tea, and she would suddenly have urgent homework.

At last, one Tuesday morning, her mother insinuated a note into her hand as they were all leaving the Great Hall.

_'I'll see you at Hagrid's later at four.'_

When they settled at Charms, Thalia looked anywhere but at her mother.

"I'm indisposed today, boys and girls. So I'll just set you to mastering your levitation and locomotor charms. Quietly, please. I don't want to hear any thumping. Pretend you're rearranging the furniture with a baby asleep in the next room. And no pranks on each other. _Disobedience will have consequences._"

Thalia huffed, caught her mother's eyes, and meekly ducked her head.

There was muffled noise as everyone rose and began muttering incantations, levitating and moving stuff. Thalia felt her skirt shifting and then tugging at her. Dionelise's face was red from suppressing giggles; she was operating with her naughty streak on. Lia grabbed her friend's wand hand and checked if her mother saw that. But she needn't have worried.

Her mother was on the other side of the room, watching Callie.

Lia watched as her mother bit her lip, squared her shoulders, and went to her sister. When she reached Callie, she seemed to take stock of herself, as though she wasn't sure if she was wearing all her clothes. What was with that?

Under cover of an upended desk sidling to the left, Lia moved closer to her mother and sister to hear.

"...haven't you been going to meals?" her mother was saying.

"But I have. Of course I have, Professor. Why?" Callie answered without looking at her--their-- mother. She was busy making a tower out of glass jars.

"Have you? I don't see you there."

"I've noticed you don't, Professor."

Callie jabbed the air with her wand and the last jar dropped with a thud. The tower collapsed. Still without looking at anyone though the whole room jumped at the shatter of glass, Callie jabbed with her wand again and gritted out, "Reparo!"

And then she turned on her heel, stepped several paces away from their mother, and made the heavy, antique teacher's desk shoot high up in the air so fast everyone gasped. She left it there and smirked, daring anyone to take it down without damaging it and without noise.

Lia was so angry she didn't care if she sent that desk crashing down on Callie. She just pointed her wand.

Everyone caught their breaths again as the desk hurtled down. At the last second, it stopped, hovered, and dropped soundlessly back to the floor.

Callie sat down as if she'd done and seen nothing out of the ordinary and opened her Standard Book of Spells.

* * *

Hermione barely had enough in her to dismiss the class with composure. The moment the last student stepped outside, her body bent in on itself, she clutched her middle and cried softly.

When she managed to get it together again, she wiped her face and went straight for Minerva's office.

The Headmistress was absent. And conspicuous in the wall behind her desk was Dumbledore's portrait. Rather, the back of Dumbledore's portrait.

"Headmaster? Are you-- Is everything all right? Why is your--"

"Is that you, Hermione?"

"Yes, Albus. I came to talk to Minerva--"

"Oh, what about? Do tell me, please. No one talks to me any longer."

Hermione was distracted enough by that to chuckle at Dumbledore's antics. "What are you talking about? We talk to you. And I wasn't going to talk about anything. I just wanted to be excused for the rest of the day, if I could."

"Of course you could, my dear. Are you all right?"

"Oh yes. Well, no. I want-- I need to talk to someone."

"By all means, go talk to him, then. I'll tell Minerva. She should be along soon. She only went to the Owlery. Something about a letter and a rejuvenating walk and two snidgets with one net and all that."

"Thank you, Albus. Wait a second--"

"Off you go, Hermione," said Dumbledore, chuckling. "And give Draco my regards."

"You keep interrupting me, Headmaster. That's impolite! I was going to ask: why are you turned to the wall? Minerva isn't angry at you or punishing you, is she?"

"Oh, no!" Dumbledore said airily. Too airily. And Hermione heard several of the sleeping portraits snort. "I begged to have a change of vista."

More snorts and one snigger. Hermione shrugged and left.

* * *

Lia was furious with Callie and seethed all through History of Magic. She'd looked for Callie during break, but Callie had disappeared again and Kia had only shrugged when Lia questioned her. She had already turned away when Kia added softly, "She might be back in our room. She only leaves for class."

This confirmed what Lia had heard between Callie and their mother. "What does she eat?"

"Biscuits and sweets from home."

By the time they queued for Potions, Lia was ready to explode. What was Callie doing? If she thought she'd get attention in this obtuse manner, she had another think coming. She'd get something, all right.

But one look at Callie's face popped the red balloon of Lia's anger. How could she be angry? Her poor sister. Just what was their mother playing at?

Lia's furious stride slowed, and she reached Callie just in time before Callie entered the door Professor Dimwit had just opened. "Keep your chin up, Grace," she whispered in passing. "But not too high up, okay? And don't sass Mum."

Callie sat hunched with her elbows on the table, something her grandmother would have reprimanded her for. She wanted to turn her head and look at... at her sister, but this was as much as she could do at the moment. Her pride had undergone too much pounding from a pestle.

Professor Demouit was speaking about Torch Potion again. He was still harping on about it, though he couldn't blame Callie and Lia outright since the explosion was his fault for carrying the potion around. His name was pronounced Dem-woa, but more and more people were calling him Dimwit now. His eccentricities had lost their novelty and he was now simply annoying.

"... when people used their fireplaces as sources of light and heating, and then when furnaces and heaters were used. Hence, the Torch Potion, an improvement to the crude thing Muggles use, something called kerocide or some such. A fire built from the Torch Potion does not create ashwinders and gives up to a hundred times more warmth. Makes it indispensible in these drafty castles. Miss Granger, go and get the potion in my office. I tweaked it so its flames emit bright white light similar to those electric lightbulbs you see in Muggle healing rooms. Great for Potion-making. Mind you don't blow up the potion, now."

Professor Dimwit laughed. He thought he was being witty. He was the only one. Everyone else groaned. They'd been preparing the Torch Potion over and over for several classes now. Dimwit said they should perfect it or even tweak it. He was all about tweaking. They suspected he didn't even diversify his classes for the different years. They all alternated in reeking of woodsmoke, depending on which year had Potions for the day.

Callie, with her eyes downcast, saw a trail of fine grey powder just before the professor's robes swept it away. She blinked, thinking she imagined it. Or perhaps Dimwit was shedding so much dandruff.

Callie suddenly turned in her seat toward the back. Lia wasn't at her stool. She was already inside Dimwit's office? Callie swivelled back around. Why was Lia taking so long?

Callie looked toward the spot where she saw the powdery stuff. And then she turned to the magically-installed fireplace in their classroom. To her horror, the trail seemed to originate there and had traces continuing toward Dimwit's office. She shot out of her seat and ran.

Lia seemed to be studying something near the store cupboard. She jumped when Callie clattered over to her, knocking over cauldrons and boxes and bottles.

"Get out of here. _Come on!_"

Just as she reached Lia, she saw the huge, showy shelf beside the cupboard. On the shelf stood flagon after flagon of clear liquid. You'd think it was prized alcohol, the way Dimwit stored and displayed it. Lia had one flagon in one hand. Callie noted all this even as she stared at the shadowy arch between the shelf's claw feet. It was the only dark recess in the room. The rest of the floor space was dominated by doors to cupboards or stocked helves.

"Someone's burned their table," Lia remarked, sniffing toward the classroom.

Callie tugged at her sister's free hand with all her might.

They made it to the door before the Potions professor's office exploded.

* * *

Hermione didn't go directly to her destination. She rambled around the village, entering shops, browsing merchandise, and even stopping for hot cocoa at Honeydukes before she realized she was stalling and overthinking and slapped a hand to her forehead. She finally arrived at the little cottage, and saw three owls flocking toward one of the open windows in the second floor. Each bird had a parcel tied to its leg.

She hesitated before lifting the shamrock knocker with her index finger. It still melodiously tapped thrice as though she'd used her wand. She heard the crack behind the door but still jumped back when he opened it before a second had passed after the last tap.

He blinked at her. "I knew you'd come here, but you're wasting your time. I don't know anything about it. Don't flatter yourself, Hermione."

Hermione raised her eyebrows but let it pass. "Hi to you, as well."

"Oh. Hey. I thought you were Belinda's girl with my brunch. I'm starving. You want to come with me and get something?"

"Are you hiding something in this cottage?"

He rolled his eyes. "A little trust, Hermione. But I'm asking for the moon on that score, aren't I? Please do me the honour," he said that last with a theatrical sweep of his arm toward the interior of the cottage. Hermione just nodded and stepped past him and inside.

"What's the matter? Is Callie all right?"

Hermione nodded non-committedly. Callie was all right in some respects.

"Is Thalia?"

"I really messed up with that agreement I drew, didn't I? I should have included that I can't try and see Callie the way I've done when I first went here, and that you can't ask after Thalia."

"Did you come here to rant about the agreement? Because if you are, can we reschedule? I'm rather busy. Replacing and rearranging furniture. These owls are getting disgruntled waiting for the ones I'll send back."

Hermione glanced around, distracted again like she'd been earlier by Dumbledore in Minerva's office. Perhaps her mind was all too willing to be distracted.

"What possessed you to inhabit this place? Callie won't have enough space. The yard is ample, but what about her rooms? For sleeping and for studying or playing."

"Callie's rooms in my house at Chablis are quite satisfactory. She has a bedroom with an en suite, a playroom, a music room. My mother's even planning on giving Callie her own conservatory. Happy?" Draco unwrapped one parcel and the minature contents arranged themselves on the coffee table. It was a living room suite. One loveseat, one armchair, a square side table with a sleek lamp that left plenty of space for a tea service beside it, a rug, a bookshelf, and even a rustic stone fireplace.

"What do you think?" Draco asked without looking at Hermione. He fingered the loveseat and nudged it to an angle beside the bookshelf.

Hermione nodded almost desperately, acutely yearning yet at the same time not wanting to give in to the urge to bombard Draco with more questions about Callie's life in France. "It's certainly more suitable to this room than this humongous sofa and coffee table."

Draco nodded. He pointed his wand at the sofa and it disappeared from sight, shrinking to the size of matchbox on the floor. Hermione picked it up. Draco placed the loveseat in the sofa's place and unshrunk it. It didn't hog the windowside to itself as the sofa had done. Hermione stood to the side, out of the way, but when Draco looked to her again, she shrugged and took the side table next.

They placed the furniture around the living area, exchanging raised eyebrows and nods. Lastly, she picked up the rug and he picked up the fireplace before he shrunk the coffee table. The room seemed much less cramped now that there was more legroom.

"Well, that's it. Sit down. I'll dismiss the owls. I'm done with my bedroom and the kitchenette. I'll make us some--"

"I can make the tea myself."

Again, he swept his arm, now toward the 'kitchenette', which appeared very spacious on account of the dining table and its four chairs still being on the countertop in miniature form. Hermione left them there though she did peer at them and found the round corners of the table and the oval-backed chairs cute.

The house was cute. She wondered how many bedrooms were upstairs. Probably just two. But a family could easily extend the house without crimping the backyard.

There was an odd twinge between her throat and stomach at the 'family' part of her thought. There was really no need for an extension if the family consisted of a father and a daughter, or a mother and a daughter...

"What are you staring at over there?"

Hermione started and pretended to fiddle with the kettle. She got her fingers burned for her idiocy. "Nothing."

He grabbed her had and held it under the faucet. He ran cold water. "Don't you have classes to teach? And I'm really pissed off about those classes, you know that? How very Slytherin of you."

Snatching her hand back and making a big show of wiping it, she glared at him. "How very Slytherin of you, thinking everyone else plots things like that, because it's what you do and what you'd have done. Minerva invited me to teach, and it coincided with my resignation."

"You resigned, so she invited you to teach. Did you resign so you'd get invited?"

"How would I have known that Filius had gone down with something and was likely to retire? I resigned because--" Hermione almost heard the snap of jigsaw puzzle pieces in her mind. "You didn't know anything about what, precisely? Do you mean the reason I resigned, a reason undisclosed to the public? Something I was supposed to be flattering myself about when I appeared on your doorstep?"

Draco was shaking his head, acting confused and she wasn't buying it. But before either of them could speak again, they heard and felt a low rumble. Like the earth coughed somewhere.

They both rushed to the window that looked out toward the castle, where the rumble had come from.

"What was that?"

Hermione didn't answer. She was already running out the door. When she Apparated at the gates, Draco was already there, having Disapparated from his kitchenette. She pointed her wand at the gates to open them but her hand was shaking so badly nothing happened.

Draco grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to him. "Hermione, you're scaring the crap out of me. Don't be ridiculous," he ground out. Then he took a deep breath and said more gently, "They're fine. Open the gates so we can know for certain. It's probably nothing. They're fine."

Hermione nodded, clinging to his assurance. When she pointed her wand at the gates again, she was able to think about the incantation properly and they felt the magical lock releasing. Draco unlatched the gates and ushered her in. They ran.

* * *

"What happened? Was there an earthquake? An explosion?" It was Draco who did the asking when they arrived at the entance hall. Hermione was silent. Her lips were white. Damn the woman. If she was overreacting, he'd strangle her later. But he couldn't shake away his own fear. He wasn't usually affected by others' thin hides. But then again, this was Hermione, and she was an exception. She'd always affect him.

His questions earned nothing but shrugs. The students milling about the entrance hall had come from their free periods or other classes, which seemed to have been undisturbed.

One girl, who had the Head Girl badge, went to Hermione and said, "It came from the dungeons, Professor."

They heard crackling. Hermione whimpered. Draco peered at the hallway leading to the dungeons, ready to rush there. Was there fire? Something orange was definitely approaching. Draco pulled Hermione and the Head Girl back.

A foot connected with Draco's forehead.

"WHAT THE FUCK, PEEVES!"

The poltergeist cackled. It was his insane laughter they'd heard. And then there they were, an almost invisble group because their soot-blackened faces nearly blended with the dark stone walls. Herding them was McGonagall, also covered with soot, and shouting like Draco had never heard before. She rivaled that Howler Weasley had once gotten from his mother.

"...AN AMPLE SEVERANCE PAY BECAUSE I WILL SEE TO IT NO ONE ELSE HIRES YOU! YOU CAN BLOODY KISS YOUR MEMBERSHIP TO THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY SOCIETY OF POTIONEERS GOODBYE. EXTRAORDINARY, MY FOOT! DON'T YOU EVER LET ME SEE YOU AT HOGWARTS AGAIN! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HALF OF MY FIRST YEARS, YOU PUERILE NINCOMPOOP!"

She stopped dead at seeing the crowd at the entrance hall. Draco thought she was ashamed of having lost dignity like that, but the headmistress was staring at him and Hermione.

"Minerva! Where's Thalia and Calliope?" Hermione asked, ramming her fist to her mouth after talking, as though she was stoppering sobs. Draco's knees shook.

"They're fine, Hermione. They're right behind me. They're--"

She didn't finish. Draco and Hermione had already run past her.

They were walking on either side of Madam Pomfrey, who held them, supported them, by the shoulders. The old, dear matron squeaked in protest when her charges were snatched away from her hands.

"What in Merlin's name happened? Did that puerile nincompoop try to blow _you_ up this time as payback?"

"Where does it hurt? Does anything hurt? Can you see all right? Please don't scare me like that again."

"I was bloody terrified!"

"Mum's here now, honey. You're okay."

Callie looked at Lia from Hermione's bosom through a gap in Hermione's hair.

Lia returned the look when she managed to turn her head while being pressed to Draco's chest.

Afterward when they'd been washed from hair to shin, Hermione went to Lia. Draco went to Callie.

"I didn't know McGonagall had made an even more interesting appointment apart from yours."

"Don't start that again. I told you--"

"I'm just saying, I'm glad the idiot's fired. Gods. How could he have created that ashwinder?"

"He said he didn't want to catch Filius's cold. He'd magicked that fire to burn constantly and added warning charms and that potion he's so obs--"

"I don't really care. He should be thankful the girls-- everyone's fine. I just wish I'd booted his arse. I mean that literally." Draco lifted one foot and eyed the bronze-colored steel toe of his shoe.

"I hate to agree with you, but I also wanted to--"

"Slap him? Bloody his nose?"

"Interrupt me again and I'll bloody _your_ nose. But the point is moot." Hermione stopped at the door to her office. Her quarters connected with it through a concealed panel. "I'm here. Good night."

"Wait a moment, Hermione. What did you want to discuss when you called earlier?"

"Oh, that." Hermione sighed.

"Can you spare just one more hour? I think this is as good a place as any. And we can't put it off. Not after my talk with McGonagall."

Hermione hesitated, shaking her head. "I think it's best we don't talk or see each other at all. But that's only best for ime./i And no mother knows the word 'me' any more."

Draco somberly nodded. "No father either. Even if that father is me."

"How selfish we've been when we drew and signed that damned agreement."

"Well, I was hurt. My mother said hurt people are the most selfish beasts there are."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, her face going blank. "_You_ were hurt?" She raised her eyes to heaven and snorted. "Never mind that now. We've lost five minutes of the hour. Come in."

* * *

"They didn't know who they were holding, did they?"

"Mum thought she was holding me."

"Daddy, too. He didn't know it was you."

Their superficial cuts and bruises had all been healed, but the matron wanted to watch them overnight because of their mild concussions. A potion was bubbling in Madam Pomfrey's office. Other than that, it was quiet. The moonlight slanted across the row of beds, showing interesting shadows of the rails and potion bottles. Callie jumped when Lia's feet sounded on the floor. Lia padded over in her socks and climbed into the bed next to Callie's.

"Professor Dimwit was sacked," said Lia, amid her bedsprings squeaking as she turned to face Callie.

Callie, who was still a little shy at her sister, fiddled with her blanket hem. She wanted to face Lia, too. "I know."

"Is your-- Is Dad any good at Potions?"

Callie turned to look exasperatedly at Lia, but was surprised to see her expression. "What are you grinning for?"

"Well, is he?"

"Yes."

"I hope the Headmistress offers him the post, then."

"Won't that just hurt you?"

Lia's blithe tone disappeared. "I don't understand them. They seemed to love us, both of us, when they yelled at each other in the Headmistress's office. What_ is_ with them?"

"I think I understand."

"Tell me. And look at me, will you, miss priss?"

"Don't call me that," Callie snapped, but she smiled when she made her bedsprings squeak in their turn. She looked at Lia from under her eyelashes. "I'm sorry for insulting your--our mother."

Lia laughed. "You more than made up for that when you pulled me out of that exploding dungeon. And hey, I insulted her, too."

They giggled for a minute at that.

"But why didn't you know she's your mother?_ I _knew he's my father."

"Daddy only told me _about_ her, but never her name. I think because he was afraid I'd seek Mum out. And they had this agreement."

"A what?"

"An agreement. And Daddy said I'd guess what it is sooner or later. Well, sooner is right. I think when they, you know, separated, they had this agreement that says they go far away from each other, and that the two of them mustn't seek the other child, mustn't look at the other child, or something like that. You saw how they acted when they knew which of us was which."

"But Mum does look at you."

"In class. Only in class. And she treats me like any other student. Maybe that's a loophole in the agreement. I bet when she asked me why I wasn't eating at the great hall, she was thinking she was asking me as a concerned teacher, not as a mum."

"That really pisses me off."

"You sound like Father."

"We're not in on this agreement they had."

"I reckon it's a magical agreement. They probably die or something pretty much near that happens if they break it."

"I don't care! They deserve to suffer! We suffer!"

"So you no longer want Father to teach?"

"No, I do. I want him here."

"What for? So he could ignore you? It really hurts, Lia."

"You think I don't know? You're only unscathed now because you've been hiding out in your dorm. If you've always been at the great hall receiving those bloody bouquets that only iyou/i get even after he'd bloody seen I'm here at Hogwarts with you, you'd have been red from being pelted by Dionelise's catapult by now."

Callie grinned ruefully. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Lia grinned back. "How about we make _them_ sorry?"

* * *

  
**A/N**: Dun du dun dun! :)) Please review! Thank you! 


	14. Hisses and Kisses

**Hisses and Kisses**

* * *

They stood at the Hogwarts gates, which Hermione kept open. She was a couple yards off to the side, accompanying this student and parent but not intruding. Like any other professor should do.

Callie stroked the wrought-iron bar near her. No, she rubbed it like it was wood and she was daring the splinters. Draco took her hand and successfully made her look at him for the first time since... Since.

Merlin, she was brassed off at him. And would he ever get used to it? How would a father ever get used to it when he does his damndest best not to incur his daughter's wrath at all? His only experience in this arena was his parents. And his mother never held back. She let him know and she let him suffer while in the process of knowing what he's supposedly done or not done. His father let him know and let him suffer and feel lower than a house-elf in the process of knowing what he's supposedly been or not been.

His only experience in this arena--where he was a limbless gladiator-- was his parents: Aside from Hermione, that was. He imagined she'd bleeding held back a lot and let him suffer and feel lower than a dust mite in the process, not to mention angrier than those lions that usually gutted those gladiators.

He'd had no success talking to Callie at all about the agreement (It reminded him of a similar non-success and a similar mulish stubborness from eleven years ago). That was what he and Hermione had agreed to do. To tell the twins about that blasted bespelled, binding agreement so neither of the girls would take the distance of one parent personally.

Too late, though. He and Hermione were now dealing with the distance of _both_ children. Well, Hermione hadn't talked to Lia yet. The child was still in her dormitories, but he'd bet his new cottage Lia, raised as she was by Weasleys and a Potter and a Granger, wouldn't listen either.

What a bloody mess this had become. That they were able to tell the kids was no longer the blessing they'd thought it to be.

He stroked his Callie's hand. He was so glad he'd been near yesterday. His eyes flicked to Hermione. In their talk last night, he had jokingly asked her if she always froze like that during crises. She'd surprised him with a candid answer: It was crippling, that fear for your children. It would probably take her at least another decade to steel herself at the thought of them being hurt. And then she'd told him of that time Thalia had knocked off a tooth playing Quidditch. When she was done, the handle of the delicate bone china teacup Draco held crumbled apart. He'd gripped it too hard in his belated 'crippling fear'. Thalia had tried a roll and fallen off her broom. It was a miracle she'd only knocked off a tooth. And losing a tooth had always been showy. All that blood. He was glad he hadn't been there. An iota.

Callie pretended to look at her watch, taking her hand away from his hold.

"Well, bye, Callie. I'll see you when another classroom or office explodes. Nothing can keep me away."

The corner of her lips twitched. But that was all. She didn't even nod. Draco sighed and bent to kiss her.

"How could you be mad at me? Do you realize your poor father is in a corner in this one?" he whispered before pressing his lips to her cheek.

She turned away from him as if he was no longer there and--_Merlin's armpits_-- casually took Hermione's hand.

He jumped when Hermione gasped, ready to rush her and resuscitate her with spells, but she remained on her feet, only flabbergasted and probably steeling herself from returning or relishing Callie's action.

She did move to retract her hand from Callie's, but Callie held on and just swung their hands back and forth, like they were pals, by Circe. "I want to thank you for your concern for me yesterday, Professor. I imagine that must be how it's like when a mother's been afraid for you. I never had a mother, you see, so I have to imagine. Thank you for helping me imagine."

Hermione shot him a look so despairing and despondent that for a second he wanted nothing more than to snatch Callie and hit her scheming behind with a switch. But then Hermione bit her lip and squared her shoulders, blinking fast, and Draco turned away, he had to get away from there.

She was right. They'd been selfish when they signed that blasted agreement. Selfish and bloody stupid. They should have known everything would backfire like this. Their children were their children, after all. A burst of unholy laughter threatened to erupt from him. He turned it into a cough, stepped past the Hogwarts gates and Disapparated.

When he was back in his tiny kitchen, he ran a hand through his hair. Please let him have at least one bottle of Ogden's Finest in his tiny cellar. Please, Merlin.

* * *

Hermione led her child back to school, her hand limp inside Callie's though she wanted to grip back, to pull, to squeeze, to kiss. Callie, who had been closed up the whole time they went to see her father off at the gates, was now a chatterbox.

"...said his potion does not create ashwinders, but it probably doesn't countereffect spells shot into a fire. Anyway, I'm glad he's sacked. We've all been getting tired of making Torch Potion. I wish the new teacher will be better. How long will it be before someone takes the post, do you think, Professor?"

_A bleeding minute_, Hermione thought darkly. Instead, she only shrugged. "It depends, Miss Malfoy. Often, teaching posts are by invitation only. The headmaster or headmistress selects someone very highly qualified from our community and queries if that person is amenable to teach."

"Dimwit was-- I'm sorry, Professor-- I mean, Professor Demouit was invited?"

"No. He applied for the post. Rather vigorously," Hermione spoke vigorously herself, anything to distract her mind from her daughter's sweetness. "The headmistress said she couldn't dish up an argument against his getting the post and Professor Libette, the former Potions professor, was in a hurry to go to her grandchildren in Ireland. Demouit had credentials. He is a contributor to the Potions page of the Profezia. He's a member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. He had a glowing recommendation from his former headmistress. It turns out that headmistress is his aunt."

"You were a former pupil of our headmistress now. That's why she knew you'd be good for Charms?"

Thinking of that doggone agreement and her position, trapped between two daughters and only able to love one of the two, Hermione snapped, "No, I'm not any good." She immediately regretted her tone but could do nothing about it.

She didn't realize the gates were this far from the oak front doors.

Thankfully, Callie talked on as if nothing happened. "I'm starving. I'm having s'mores with Lia and Dionelise. I have to get Kia. See you in class, Professor."

And with that, Callie pulled the hand she held and the surprised Hermione bent and was helpless to the kiss bestowed on her cheek.

Callie ran off. That was just as well. Hermione's knees unlocked and she plopped boneless on the wet autumn grass. Morgana help her. She'd given birth to devils. Hermione could already see and guess what the girls were doing. A giggle escaped her as she thought of Draco. Poor Draco. Her vixen would be out to get him.

* * *

"What are you and Calliope up to?"

Lia shrugged and continued feigning interest to the Silenced fwooper in its cage. They were in Hagrid's cabin. The fwooper was beautiful but boring. Especially if you've been watching it for the past half hour.

They'd had tea and they'd talked. Well, her mother and Hagrid had talked. Lia crammed rock cakes in her mouth as an excuse to not joining in and just watched the fwooper. But now tea was over and done with and Hagrid had escaped her mother's rising irritation. Lia was a little scared; she'd never baited her mum like this before. But it had to be done. And her mum deserved it, too. A taste of her own medicine.

_"You will answer when you are spoken to, Thalia."_

"Yes, Mum."

"And don't mumble."

"I won't mumble."

"What are you and Calliope Malfoy doing?"

"We're not doing anything. I think she's doing homework right now. I'm here talking to you."

Lia drew back. She would have sworn her mother smoked at the ears. Her mum took a deep breath and the red in her face receded a bit. Lia breathed again. This was dangerous. But no, not very much. She shrugged inwardly. The kitchens here wouldn't ever be closed to her and even if the elves were told to make the sweets repel Lia, she could get sweets from her sister and others easy. She was already sort of grounded; it wasn't as if she could get on a broom here and there was only class to go to. What could her mother do? Coldshoulder her? That would be easier for this scheme. Haha.

She cried out in astonishment at the sting she received at the back of her hands. It was probably what being smacked by something leather felt like.

Her mother had hexed her.

"Get out of my sight, Thalia Maura Granger. I will not talk to you again until you apologize for being so impertinent and ill-mannered. You know better. I raised you better."

Lia sprang from her seat and scurried off. _Whew_. She rubbed her hands alternately as she jogged back to the castle. If she just didn't apologize, she'd be out of hexing range.

She looked at her hands. Oh, the red was already gone. Have to fix that.

* * *

Draco was sleeping off the half-bottle he'd downed earlier. He lay sprawled on his bed. Unlike the rest of the cottage, the master's bedroom was not impervious to expansion charms. His mother had sent his whole suite from the chateau. He was comfortable. That was, when the thought of his children didn't riddle his gut with guilt.

Sleep was escape, however, if only for a short time. He wasn't happy when said sleep was interrupted. There was the sound of chimes-- his fireplace's signal that someone was in the Floo.

And then he remembered his wistful habit of always naming a certain person as the one allowed access to the fireplace in his bedroom.

He bolted upright.

"What on earth? Why is your Floo fireplace in your bedroom? No, don't answer. I don't care about whatever sick reason you have."

Draco shook his head to try to stop the room from spinning, and winced. "Back up a second, will you? I've been sleeping. Give me a moment to wake up properly. And don't spout nonsense."

"You've been drinking."

"How astute." Draco squeezed his eyes closed and opened it again. That did the trick. There was one Hermione in the grate. Just one.

"Can I come through? Do you still have what you imbibed? I could use a glass."

Draco raised his eyebrows and waved her over.

Now, Ogden's Finest had always had a strange effect on Draco, perhaps on everyone. Instead of dulling the senses, they were sharpened. It was as if the winery wanted its imbibers to be sharp and alert even though sozzled. They might see double for a bit, but the double-vision was highly defined (doubly dizzying) and the nose, ears and touch were highly sensitive. As for taste... Draco made a note not to eat anything within the next two hours. Straight firewhisky always messed with the tastebuds.

"Merlin, you came from Hagrid's cabin, didn't you? What's he got in there this time?"

Hermione bent her head and sniffed the collar of her robes, frowning at him. He could also smell her perfume, of course, but he had to depart from that pleasant smell if he didn't want her hexing something vital off him.

She went to his side table where he'd left the bottle, and poured herself three fingers in the glass he'd used.

"You realize that we're in a room with this huge bed, don't you, and that if you drink yourself past your limit, I won't be a saint?"

"Sod off, _Malfoy_." She sipped, winced, and sat down on the edge of the bed, her back to him. "I put a Stinging Hex on Thalia."

He pretended to scoot _up_ to the headboard when he was really scooting_ left_, nearer her. "Just one?"

"Of course, just one. She was so insolent earlier."

She was whining, as though wanting something, probably wanting to be told the Stinging Hex was justified. She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. He had to stifle a gasp. Blast the firewhisky. He doubted he'd be this sentimental and smitten over that casual movement if he wasn't a little drunk. "They deserve a thrashing every now and then."

She snorted and laughed. "I have never and will _never_ thrash them! And I think you haven't and won't either. You'll be putty in their hands."

He did catch his breath now when she reached over and patted his cheek. "Poor you. Good luck for tomorrow. It's Thursday so you have one day's grace. And then it's Friday and both of them will be there. Double Potions. Gryffindor and Slytherin."

He raised his own hand and pressed hers to his cheek. "Tomorrow, they have Double Charms. Lucky you. I'll be there to drink with."

"You will not smuggle alcohol into school, Draco Malfoy." She smiled, withdrew her hand from his hold, and gulped down the rest of her glass in one go. When she was done, she grimaced again, and tucked her lips into her mouth to lick them. They came out red.

She probably didn't even know she was seducing him, but she was, damn it all to Hades. Draco closed the small distance between them, hooked an arm behind her head and pulled her close. When his lips mashed onto hers, he sighed in ecstasy and drew back a little, to turn the kiss into a kiss, not a devouring. He worshipped her lips from corner to corner. And when he suckled on her lower lip, it was like drinking life. She tasted heavenly. His soul bloomed again.

She was soft in his arms, her head lolling on his upper arm. At first, she tried to push him away, but now her hand was in his hair and one arm was around his waist. Draco pulled her closer and buried his face in her neck. He could stay there forever.

But his forever was over, it seemed. Hermione drew away and walked sedately to the fireplace. She stopped there. Without looking back at him, she said softly, "How dare you. If you ever come near me again, I'll switch your brains with your gonads. You have no right to kiss me as if-- as if-- _You have no right!_"

She threw Floo powder in the fire and vanished in the flames.

* * *

Hermione wanted to fling hexes right and left when she arrived at the great hall that morning. She looked at Minerva, but Minerva only shrugged over her tea. Hermione glared at Hagrid, but Hagrid only looked confused and hurt, so she shook her head at him and smiled assuringly. As for the others, they all pretended like she wasn't looking daggers at them all. No one moved to take the remaining seat beside Draco.

She gritted her teeth and went there, taking care not to let her robes go within an inch of him as she sat down.

"Good morning, miss priss. I don't have a disease, you know."

"Don't speak to me."

"Callie and Thalia are looking. Smile at me."

She bared her teeth at him. He chuckled and waved toward the Gryffindor table. To Hermione's astonishment, Thalia was right there beside Calliope. But no, they were the only ones not looking at the staff table. At the infamous couple on the staff table. Hermione felt the heat flood her face and began cutting up her flapjacks with a vengeance.

* * *

"...went right up to the staff table as we were all rising and embraced Draco Malfoy, saying she was immensely glad there was already a new professor because Potions was her favourite subject. Poor Hermione. And you should have seen the look on Draco's face. He went white-- I didn't think that possible. That's right, laugh. I hope you're happy, Dumbledore."

"Oh, I am," said Albus, calming down. "I love those girls. So devious and brave!"

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Thalia is not speaking to Hermione and Calliope is not speaking to her father. Calliope is doing everything short of clinging to Hermione like a limpet and Thalia is doing the same to Draco. I only see ingratitude and rebellion."

"Ah, Minerva, you've lost your inner child! If I answer you, will you turn me back around? I couldn't go calling with my frame like this."

"No."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ There you go, Chiara! And the rest of you lovely readers. Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm placing my Dramione fics at **Hawthorn and Vine**. After this chapter, all updates will go there (and in MNFF) only. It's a little tiring to have to update on THREE sites, hehe. And when I do so here, I have to scour and clear away the html, too. Anyway, if you're serious about the quality of your Dramione, I recommend that site. I have the same penname at H&V. See you there, I hope. *hugs* H&V is a moderated archive, by the way, so the chapters there are few yet, hehe. I only submit one per day so as not to unbalance the queue. But we'll catch up soon. And by that time, I'm done with Chapter 15 AND 16. :)) In MNFF, my username is lucilla_pauie.


	15. Chapter 15

Dear, dear readers,

Two chapters of CATATI have already been published in Mugglenet Fan Fiction (fanfiction dot mugglenet dot com) and Hawthorn and Vine (dramione dot org). Both sites have a Search function. Just type 'calliope' (title search) or 'lucilla' (penname search) there and you'll find me and mine.

So many of you have added alerts for this story. Thank you so much. And I hope you'll forgive me for no longer uploading to this site. From now on, I'll update weekly, if not sooner. I'd love your reviews. So we're all happy-flappy, right? Right!

~Joanna 


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